


next to you, i still dream

by shamusiel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caretaking, Drama, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Content, Trans Katsuki Yuuri, Trans Male Character, mlm author, yes yuuri is still somehow trans in this fuckign fight me, yuuri is a dragon (that can turn into a human)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-10-10 15:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 89,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10441377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamusiel/pseuds/shamusiel
Summary: They had said that, like humans, the eyes of a dragon could be a window into the soul. Every emotion laid bare to the world. It was just rare that any man lived long enough to properly look.After dragons were slaughtered and driven out by humanity, the ones that remain were scarcely seen again.Yuuri is a dragon, Viktor is a human prince.Updates will be slow for the next while as I work on other projects and deal with health-related issues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i got this idea out of the blue while trying to take a depression nap

Dragons are thought to be a dying species.

They had ruled lands for thousands upon thousands of years. They were magnificent beasts that none dared oppose. They were scholarly but they were also violent. They were intelligent, they were clever, they were beautiful, they were _terrifying._ One beat of their wings could blow away an entire village, uproot a forest. Their flames burned hotter than hellfire. For so long were they insurmountable and if you knew what was good for you, you knew to never cross one.

Humanity knew this well enough. That is why they reached out to these creatures in an attempt to maintain some semblance of peace. The dragons, being… well, _dragons,_ hardly cared, but they went along with humanity’s wishes for the time-being out of sheer amusement. They took human forms, met with human emissaries and generals, and this continued for twenty years.

But as humanity grew, humanity learned. While for so long they had lived in fear of these great beasts, they had decided to put their foot down and say ‘no more.’ They would no longer submit to the beasts that for so long controlled the lands and the skies. That took and took and took from humans but rarely gave back.

The war between dragons and humans waged for many years. Through trial and error did the humans learn what would strike them down from the skies, how to snuff out their flames, how to turn the hunters into the hunted. Any dragons that survived fled to the far reaches of each realm where no human dared to tread. It became rare for any two dragons to meet, meaning that they would not reproduce. After so many of their species slaughtered in the war, their numbers were already dwindling.

Dragons have always been capable of living for a long, long time. Reproduction was not always necessary. But with humans having learned how to kill them, their lifespans are usually cut short should they be found. To bear offspring would be beneficial, but while dragons are terrifying and powerful, they are not without emotion. Their children may live in fear, may have their lives ended before they really begin, and that thought alone could be too much for most of the remaining beasts to bear.

Viktor Nikiforov, the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Seskia, has never seen a dragon.

In storybooks his mother, the Queen, would read to him he would see the illustrations of noble men and women striking the creatures down. He would learn the stories of his great-grandfather and all those before him fighting the wretched beasts that terrorized the lands for so long. He was told he would not have to live in fear of them, as they have long since been killed and those that have not died at the hands of man have been driven out. They would never dare strike back against the very beings that shot them from the skies. Only old veterans with their one-eyed stares and grisly scars from battles long past truly remembered what those times were like.

There were always rumors of one of the powerful serpents being spotted along country borders or outside towns and villages, but that’s all they were: rumors. Meant to stir up fear and panic, but there were always self-important fools that would ride out upon their horses to impress whatever individual they were courting with their “bravery” to face a beast that was not even there.

But in all his twenty-seven years of living, Viktor Nikiforov has never seen a dragon. There were always occasionally thoughts of what it may be like, but he supposes he should consider himself thankful that he has never had to look on in the eye, and he never will.

Well, that’s what he had thought.

It is not rare for him to ride along the outskirts the capital city of Kypol on days that went far too slow, far too boring for his liking. He is a man full of boundless energy, being cooped up in a palace for hours a day listening to his tutors drone on or dealing with noblemen and women that desired his attention does nothing but intensify his restlessness.

Despite the warnings of his mother and his retainer of the bandits in the woods, he still ventures along the path through them. He has his sword, and he has his magic. Both he has extensively trained in, both he excels in. Should any thugs make an attempt to ambush him, they’ll realize their mistake quickly. The birds sing, flutter through the canopy of leaves above, and midday sunlight filters through to paint the path golden. It is a spring day like any other. Until his horse comes to a full stop. Her ears are pricked, swiveling about, her head lifted high in alarm. She stands rigid, as if frozen in fear. Her nostrils flare.

When Viktor leans forward to stroke a hand along the side of her thick neck, fingers brushing through the white of her coat, to breathe a, “What’s wrong, _Luskya?_ ” he sees the answer almost immediately.

There were signs of… something. Some sort of scuffle along the path. Marks evidently made by claws in the dirt, torn up grass, the speckling and smearing of blood as something retreated West, further into the woods. A wounded animal, most likely, that could have gotten into a fight with another before fleeing. It’s a bright red, alarmingly so, and it is _fresh._ Meaning, he must be on guard. It’d be best to steer Ludmila away, to turn around and make their way out of the woods and across the rolling plains back to the city.

But sometimes, Viktor Nikiforov is so bold that he becomes foolish. Now, he is not a stupid man, but he is so terribly curious that he finds himself putting the weight of one leg into the stirrup and swinging the other over his mount to lower himself to the ground. She paws at the dirt nervously, nostrils flaring, and he slowly makes his way around her front to where the bushes alongside the path have been broken, where the soft bark of trees has been scraped and peeled away by something squeezing through in a hurry. Dipping down to one knee, he touches a splash of blood to bring to his nose.

It smells… _different_ . Not coppery, like his own would. There’s still a faint metallic tone to it, but it borders more on something… sweet. Perhaps a bit like the sap of trees, sugary and thick. Yet it is an almost _unpleasant_ sweetness, far too strong, almost dizzying. He pulls his hand from his face, taking note of how the blood shimmers in the patches of sunlight. Viktor flicks the droplets from his gloves.

_Strange._

There’s plenty of rare creatures in these woods. Ones you might only hear of in storybooks or see in paintings. Nothing incredibly dangerous, at least. Maybe you’ll even see a unicorn once in your lifetime. Viktor swears he had seen one when he was just a child.

He is sure not to stray too far. Ludmila stays put as he steps over the bushes and steadies himself with a hand on the skinny trunk of one tree. A trail of scratch marks and drops of blood continue on forward, and he allows it to guide him further, occasionally glancing back to make sure his horse is still in sight.

Viktor has found, ever since he was small, that he quite enjoys surprises. It adds something new to his rather routine lifestyle. Some surprises, however, are not always for the best. That is what he thinks this is now as his bright blue gaze meets golden only three yards ahead of him.

Realistically, he should be terrified. He should be fleeing. He should be leaping onto his horse’s back and forcing her from the woods to gallop all the way back home. To warn the soldiers of what he has seen.

But he knows that, while man and dragon are so drastically different, there is something they have in common. The ability to _feel._ That is what those old soldiers would often say as he listened in silence in the middle of a pub, disguised in the shadows so he could remain undisturbed. Perhaps they felt more intensely than humans ever could. And they had said that, like humans, the eyes of a dragon could be a window into the soul. Every emotion laid bare to the world. It was just rare that any man lived long enough to properly look.

Somehow, he does. The creature makes no move to strike, just presses itself against the trees across the clearing. And those golden eyes-- no, he sees that they are _brown_ , only reflecting golden in the sunlight. Those brown eyes show nothing but _fear_ and _pain_ . While Viktor can tell it is as long as one of the thin trees, he can deduce that it’s only as tall as his mare is; its shoulder could line up near perfect with her own. Strange, as he had always heard of dragons being the size of grand estates and even bigger. But this one is… small. Perhaps it is young? It’s slender, its body more like a serpent’s. A pair of long antlers sprout from its head, glimmering silver in a way that reminds him of ivory moonlight. It fur is jet black, but patterns of pale blue along its slender shoulders and haunches, speckling its throat, stand out like diamonds against the black, sunlight hitting them to let them _sparkle_. Its underbelly is a deep navy much like the night sky, rising and falling with each shallow breath. Silky gray fur trails from between its antlers, down its spine to fan out at the end of its tail. There are long whiskers of the same color on either side of its round, black nose. Its face looks soft, covered in black fur fluffier than the rest of its body, and tufted behind its ears which are, currently, flattened against its scalp. It is truly a peculiar yet beautiful thing.

Viktor knew that dragons could come in all shapes, sizes, and colors, but many characteristics tended to be exclusive to certain parts of the world. Ones such as this he has only heard tales of from merchants and traders and diplomats that came from countries to the East. Wingless unlike the ones that had once dominated the lands he now resides in, yet still capable of soaring the skies with ease. Serpentine, elegant, often ruling the clouds, the heavens, the rivers and the seas.

So how has a dragon of this sort found its way here?

There were whispers of poachers that have taken to bigger game. That tracked down these remaining creatures -- often the younger ones as they were smaller and more easily transported, yet increasingly rare -- and carried them across countries to boast over their catch, then slaughter the beast as you can do many things with many parts of a dragon. The teeth and claws could be made into blades, scales into armor, skin into leather, saliva and blood into medicine. The meat from a single dragon could feed a family for months. The heart and eyes went for a high price in the black markets, many practicing in dark magic desired them.

Maybe, just maybe, this poor creature is one that was captured and taken so far from its home, managing to escape _somehow_ . Now it stands here, terrified, staring at the human before it while the human stares back. It’s like they’re both waiting for the other to make a move. Viktor doesn’t think he looks all too intimidating in only his riding clothes, until he sees how its eyes flicker briefly to the rapier at his hip, then back to his face. _Ah, of course._ It shifts, just slightly, enough to make Viktor stiffen and shoot his hand up to the grip of his blade. But when the dragon does nothing but flinch then continue to stare, he lets his fingers merely dance over the pommel then his hand drops to his side once more.

He sees it, the blood along the beast’s flank. Where something had ripped through its fur and flesh with claws. A bear, maybe? Viktor turns his head to catch a glimpse of Ludmila still where he left her, much to his relief, then back to the creature before him.

“You’re hurt,” he says, slowly. Viktor is sure he should be putting the creature out of its misery or just leaving it alone to either bleed out or help itself. That’s what anyone else would do, he thinks, as dragons were meant to be their enemy. But this one looks so _scared,_ it hasn’t even made a move to attack and only coils in protectively on itself.

It directs its attention to its wounds at his words. Its nostrils flare at the smell of its blood.

It obviously understands him, he would be surprised if it didn’t. Dragons had always been capable of understanding the speech of man and speaking it themselves.

Something makes him step forward. Immediately the creature snaps its head back to him in alarm, lips curling to bare its fangs in warning. It could rip him to shreds with ease, but something tells Viktor it doesn’t _want_ to. If it wanted to, he’s sure he’d be dead by now. Viktor halts.

“I can help,” he tries again. “Magic. I know how to heal.”

The beast snarls. Viktor lifts his hands slowly to show he means no harm.

“The sooner you heal, the sooner you can leave.”

It stares at him longer, its scrutiny obvious, like it’s waiting for Viktor to strike should it let its guard down for even one moment. It tries to curl in on itself further, but it groans in pain as it only aggravates the wounds. So it seems to concede to its better judgment then begins to uncoil, stretching itself along the length of the clearing, resting itself on its belly with its skinny legs and clawed feet tucked beneath it. It is breathing hard and those gouges make Viktor wince. He turns just to unsheathe his rapier and he hears the dragon growl low again in response, but he sets the blade down onto the grass. Hopefully not having it so close at hand will put the beast at ease somewhat. Then he slowly, cautiously approaches. It watches him with wary eyes as he takes careful steps closer, closer, closer, then drops down onto one knee. The gloves on his hands are peeled away so the flow of magic will have better access to the wounds.

One more glance is cast to the beast’s face. It peers back, then focuses on his hands as he hovers them over the injuries.

Viktor is fully prepared to pull back and _run_ should it be necessary. Yet the creature remains still save for its breathing as a white light glows from his palms. It is cold, frost beginning to dust over that dark fur. Normally, the chill would help numb the pain. Then again, he has only done this on other humans and occasionally horses. A dragon, however? He doesn’t think he has enough power in him to completely heal these wounds, but he does his damnedest to heal as much as he can.

The entire time he feels its stare boring into him, only tearing away when the beast jerks its body in response to the feeling of torn flesh being forced closed. Numbed or not, it is not a pleasant experience. That is something he knows well.

The scar hidden beneath his clothes, curling around the right side of his rib cage up to his shoulder blade, itches in response to a memory of a battle long past.

Blood soaks his fingers when he presses his hands closer. That same dizzying, unbearably sweet smell from before hits his nostrils once more. Viktor, for all the lessons he was given on how to slay a dragon despite the fact no one thought he would ever face one, still finds his knowledge in their anatomy lacking. Is their blood always like this? That is a question for later, he supposes.

When he feels the energy beginning to drain from him, he ceases the flow of magic and exhales heavily. Its body will have to do the rest of the work to fully recover, but he thinks he has managed to mostly close up the wounds and halt the bleeding. The dragon turns its head to sniff then lick at the wounds gingerly.

There is blood on his hands. Somehow he will have to wash it away before he returns home as to not rouse suspicion. That can come later, as he wants to ensure the creature’s well-being. Viktor had imagined that if he had ever met a dragon, it would have gone so much differently. He never thought he’d feel sympathy for one, he never thought it would look like this. He expected a terrifying, mighty beast that would try to rip his throat out.

“Ah, it can’t be helped,” he sighs, wiping his hands in the grass for now. It does little to rid his skin of the blood. The dragon is looking at him again now; wary, curious.

Viktor cocks his head to the side and tries a smile.

“Can you speak?”

It’s answered with a snort. A very clear ‘yes’ yet not a word slips out. The dragon looks away, instead settling its head on the ground.

“Well, will you talk to me?”

The dragon ignores him.

“I _did_ just stop you from bleeding out. I think I deserve some kind of response. Do you have a name?”

It lifts its head again to stare directly at him. Viktor thinks for a moment that he really will get an answer before the dragon rests its head down again after a few moments drag on by. He pouts.

“Hm. Alright. Let’s see. I’ll give you a name until you decide you like me enough to talk to me. Are you female?”

That earns him a growl. A very _unhappy_ growl, at that. Viktor tries not to laugh but he’s sure the amusement is evident in his voice.

“My apologies. Male, then. Hmmm… I will call you what my mother used to call me. _Solnyshko,_ how does that sound?”

There’s no response. Just a twitch of whiskers with his ears swiveling backward toward him. Then a sigh, heavy and a touch melodramatic.

“ _Solnyshko_ it is, then. Though you are not golden like the sun, nor do you seem very cheery. But it is better than nothing for now, no?”

‘Solnyshko’ sighs again as he accepts defeat.

Viktor settles down on both knees. He cannot stay long. If it were just him that ventured out here, then he would, but he has his horse to worry about. Still he takes a few minutes to admire this dragon, then press further for some kind of answer from him.

“You are not of this land. I know this. How did you find yourself so far from home?” He tries to broach the subject carefully. Solnyshko doesn’t grace him with a response. For now, Viktor isn’t sure he’ll get a word out of him. Viktor stays silent for a few beats, trying to figure out what to say that won’t further annoy or distress this creature. He thinks that anything could at this point. Solnyshko is an injured dragon, far from home, in the presence of a human. It’s no wonder he’d feel so threatened and refuse to open up.

Viktor drums his fingers atop his thighs.

“Did you get into a fight? Out on the path.”

After a moment, Solnyshko gives an affirmative hum. Viktor takes it as a little victory. So, he presses further, “With what? A bear?”

Another hum. Viktor squares his shoulders. With that bit of information, he knows that he should probably leave now. But…

“I wouldn’t recommend continuing your journey just yet. Your body needs to work on healing the rest of the way. Strenuous activity could only undo the work I have done.”

Solnyshko’s ears twitch. At least he’s still listening.

“I healed you as best I could, but of course I have little knowledge in tending to dragons. I was told the many ways to kill--”

Solnyshko whips his head back up then is suddenly on his feet, whirling around fast as lightning to shove his face into Viktor’s which sends the prince falling back with a ‘thump’. He’s quick to prop himself up on his elbows when the beast is suddenly looming over him. Hot breath blasts over his face, blows his fringe back from his eyes. It’s an obvious sign that Viktor has crossed a line. His heart thuds wildly in his chest and for a moment he thinks that _this_ is where he will die. But Solnyshko only searches his face with suspicious brown eyes. Then he’s drawing away to slump back down on the ground with a pained grunt.

Viktor doesn’t realize he was holding his breath until he lets all of it out in relief.

“Forgive me. That was insensitive.” Viktor pushes himself up to sit straight. Solnyshko remains silent. “I promise I have never struck down any of your kind. You are, in fact, the first I’ve met. And I have no intention of harming you.”

The dragon does not seem convinced. It just growls again without casting him a second glance.

“If I wanted to harm you, I would have by now.” Viktor rises to his feet then crosses the clearing to where he had left his rapier. He slips it back into its sheathe in a smooth motion, but all the while he can feel Solnyshko’s eyes burning holes into his back. The beast seems to relax when the blade is not pointed his way. “But it is dangerous here. There are many travelers. Bandits, as well. If another human saw you, I cannot promise that they would be as kind as I am.”

Viktor pivots on his heel to give Solnyshko a radiant smile.

“However!” The dragon blinks owlishly as Viktor carries on, “While you are recovering, I can cast an enchantment that will hide your presence. Of course, I will need to return to renew it in two days time. It is very difficult for me to slip out some days, but I will do my best.”

He turns back around, lifting his hands and closing his eyes. Inhale, exhale. Viktor focuses on the energy surging up within his body, white-hot and intense. Brows pinch together in concentration. Sparks fly up his arms, shoot from his fingertips, then the clearing is filled with a flash of white as that barrier forms around it. It remains visible just briefly, thin and pale and shimmering, before it fades. It will keep Solnyshko hidden from other humans, as well as most beasts in these woods. Any that come close will act as though it doesn’t exist, or find interest in something else further away.

Viktor doubts it will take a long time for the dragon’s body to do the rest of the healing. Perhaps in two days when he returns Solnyshko will already be gone.

“Should you get hungry, there are plenty of deer that wander these parts. I’m sure a few will come by. But I will bring you something next time. Do you like fish?”

Solnyshko hums quietly like he had before. Viktor glances over his shoulder to smile again with soft eyes.

“Fantastic. I will see you in two days then. Try not to get too lonely.”

When he departs he feels the dragon watching him, even when he steps back onto the path to pull his gloves over his blood-caked hands, then greet his horse to begin guiding her back by the reins to where they entered. There are many questions swimming about his head, ones that never leave him even on the ride back to Kypol. That never leave him when he resumes his studies in the palace that day. That never leave him when he goes to bed that night.

If it got out there truly was a dragon nearby, there would be panic. Or, perhaps, everyone would brush it off as another false rumor. If it got out that Viktor was helping said dragon recover, that he was hiding it from other humans, there would be an outrage. His mother loved him too dearly to sentence him to execution, but he’s sure he will be tossed into the dungeons for a good while while Solnyshko is hunted down and killed.

_Oh, Viktor, what have you gotten yourself into?_

 

\---

 

It is somewhat surprising when he does return two days later to find Solnyshko still there, then the next time he returns, then the next.

He has stopped riding Ludmila out here, she is far too recognizable. Instead, he brings another horse from the palace stables. A chestnut gelding named Maxim which he stables at the little farm in the fields that lead to the woods. The farmer that lives there is happy to remain quiet and ask no questions in exchange for a few gold coins.

The dragon is closed off for the most part. He does not let Viktor touch him, he still does not speak, but he is happy to rest in silence or gnaw on a deer carcass as Viktor talks away about what is happening in the city, in the palace ( Solnyshko didn’t have much of a response to the revelation Viktor is a prince, shockingly enough! ), what gossip there is among the nobles who whisper behind their fans and their hands. Whether Solnyshko is actually interested in what he’s saying is still a mystery to Viktor, but he does not protest in any way as the prince rambles on.

What he has learned about the dragon in the next two weeks after their first meeting is… he is full of anxious energy. The smallest sounds and shadows are enough to make him tense and startle, there always seems to be a worried glint in his eyes, and he is _shy._ There are times when he gets angry, or annoyed. Sometimes he can be quite stubborn, occasionally trying to refuse food Viktor offers to him or remaining silent no matter how much Viktor presses. But he is not violent, he has never attempted to hurt Viktor.

The wound should be mostly healed, enough that Solnyshko is free to leave if he so pleases. Yet he hasn’t, not yet. He remains. Viktor does not ask why, he still believes that one day when he comes to visit the dragon will be gone. Just taking his time, letting himself relax before he goes on the run again.

 

\---

 

It is a month after their first meeting that Solnyshko allows Viktor to touch him.

The prince always kept a good amount of distance between them. Oftentimes he would lie back in the grass with his arms crossed behind his head as he talked, and talked, and talked while Solnyshko laid a few feet away. Everytime Viktor dared reach out to touch, or got even a little _too_ close, the dragon would shy away, then hiss in warning. So he stops his attempts. Patience is needed with this creature. This shy, nervous creature.

So unlike the dragons he’s heard of in so many old soldiers’ tales.

But now they lie in the grass in a comfortable silence. Solnyshko is finishing off a rather plump fish that Viktor had caught for him while Viktor dozes in the warmth of the approaching summer weather. It’s peaceful, there is no tension in the air between them, and he thinks that the dragon is rather enjoying his presence now.

A gust of warm breath over his face startles him. Blue eyes snap open to see Solnyshko looking down at him. There is no threat in the dragon’s eyes, just contemplation, before he settles down closer to the prince’s side and carefully, to Viktor’s surprise, nudges at his arm with his damp nose. A request for… something. What? That nose sniffs, then moves down to his hand. The fur tickles his fingers.

_Oh._

A sense of elation fills him. Viktor sits up quickly. Solnyshko’s ears prick up in surprise at the sudden movement but he remains put, so very close. Brown eyes are nothing but expectant. Viktor lifts his hand while the dragon lifts his head.

“May I?” He breathes. This is the closest they have truly been since their first meeting, when Viktor accidentally angered the beast, when he had the fleeting fear that he was about to die. But there is no anger here. There is some sort of trust, a quiet bond. Solnyshko nods, slowly, leaning his head in while Viktor rests his palm against one furry cheek. That fur is as soft as he thought it would be, like down feathers. The dragon sighs through his nose, tilting his head into the touch as Viktor strokes through the fur. He adds his other hand, rubbing along his snout then over his ears, the base of his antlers, through the gray mane that travels down his spine.

There is a rumble in Solnyshko’s chest that sounds much like a purr. The dragon’s body is relaxed, his eyes have slid shut. Viktor smiles and they remain like this, Solnyshko’s head in his lap while he strokes through the fluffy fur of his head, down to where it smooths out on his neck.

Another victory to add to the list.

 

\---

 

It is two weeks after that that Solnyshko finally speaks.

That is the one thing that Viktor never expected to happen with the dragon. He thought that Solnyshko would never say a word to him. But he lies back against his friend’s ( they are friends now, he is sure ) side while the dragon curls up almost protectively around him, his head resting on the ground in front of Viktor. One eye is visible to him, cracked open just slightly, enough that Viktor can tell that Solnyshko is watching him. Solnyshko is often watching him, but all wariness has left his gaze. Viktor thinks nothing of his stare, only lets his eyes flutter shut so he can nap in the warmth of the sun and the warmth of the dragon’s body.

“Why do you keep coming back?” The voice is hoarse from lack of use. Viktor jolts, his eyes snapping open. He wonders if he is imagining things, or maybe he’s dreaming. Or if maybe, just maybe, the dragon really did finally decide to speak to him after so long of him poking and prodding then finally giving up on that quest. He stares, gobsmacked, but Solnyshko lifts his head to repeat, “Why?”

That voice is so light, so gentle. It’s… sweet, Viktor thinks. Curious, shy, and sweet.

He continues to stare. It doesn’t take long for his gaze to grow impatient as he waits for Viktor to speak. Then his brain slowly begins to work once more, enough that he can piece together a coherent response.

“Why do you remain?” Viktor counters.

Solnyshko blinks. Then he huffs. Then he rests his head back down again.

“It isn’t like I have anywhere to go.” The tone of his voice is so _sad_ it makes Viktor’s heart ache. Solnyshko is staring ahead, focusing on anything but the human at his side. “You are kind to me. Other humans are not. They will find me, no matter where I go.”

Viktor opens his mouth to speak, but is quickly cut off.

“But… I’m a burden to you.” Solnyshko turns his head back to Viktor but does not meet his gaze. “If I remain, I only interfere. You’re royalty. Your duty is to protect your country, not me. If they found out you were hiding me…”

“...Then you would die, and I would be imprisoned, while besmirching my family’s name.”

The dragon does not look at him, but he does not pull away when Viktor reaches out to stroke behind his ears. All this time, he never considered entirely what Solnyshko must be feeling. In truth, he may have mostly been considering what Solnyshko outwardly showed to be all there was to know. He was very wrong he learns now. This peculiar dragon seems more concerned about Viktor’s well-being than his own. Like he’s resigned himself to a tragic fate, where he’d die at the hands of humanity like so many of his kind had.

“I’m not worth the trouble, Viktor. So why do you keep coming back?”

It is a good question, admittedly. In truth he does not know why. All he knows is he feels drawn to the beast he had met only six weeks ago. A connection, like they were destined to meet. A human and a dragon, what an odd tale. Viktor never really paid much mind to fate, he isn’t sure he ever really bought into it as he preferred to do things his own way and not feel tied down to some set course. This, however… it was bound to happen. Their paths were meant to cross. Why? He can’t say.

Viktor gives the only answer he can, “Because I am your friend.”

Solnyshko whimpers.

They spend the rest of their time together that day in silence.

 

\---

 

“Call me Yuuri,” Solnyshko tells him a week later as he leans back against the dragon’s flank.

“Yuuri?” Viktor looks up from the novel in his hands.

“You wouldn't be able to pronounce all of it. So, just Yuuri.”

Viktor can’t help his grin. A feather is set between the pages of his book, then he closes it to place in his lap. One finger taps at his lips in thought. “There is a rather temperamental boy that lives within the palace. The son of a duke. His name is Yuri.” He thinks back to the blond fifteen-year-old, full of fire, much like a rather angry feline.

“Will that be confusing?” Solnyshko-- no, _Yuuri_ asks.

“No, we mostly call him Yura. Yuratchka, too. Besides, your name sounds somewhat different. _Yuuuuu_ -ri.”

Yuuri shoves his nose into Viktor’s ribs, toppling him over playfully. Viktor laughs.

Neither of them mention their conversation from only a week ago.

 

\---

 

It has been three months now. It is almost July. The sun is high in the sky, unforgiving, which means Viktor’s skin is damp with sweat by the time he reaches the clearing where Yuuri still remains. It is so strange to him that the dragon still lingers after having confided in him just how much he hated feeling like a burden to the prince. One would think he would have fled by now, leaving behind only memories that Viktor is sure he would cherish the rest of his life. Ones he would hold dear to his heart, kept only to himself. Those precious few months where he had formed an unlikely friendship.

He steps into the clearing and--

\--it is empty.

_Ah… it is time, I suppose._

That doesn’t stop the sharp stab of grief in his chest. While he figured Yuuri would leave eventually, he had thought by now that he would have said goodbye first. The three months with Yuuri were such a welcome change to Viktor’s life, his life that seemed so empty. Even though he had all the riches he could ever ask for, even though he was adored by every individual in Seskia. Courted by many whom never truly caught his interest, no matter how many ended up in his bed. Even though he lived a life anyone would die for.

It was a life that was no longer exciting, not to him. It had always been the same. Days that went by with tutors, or meeting with foreign ambassadors, or attending parties where men and women would flirt with him, flatter him, just a chance to rub elbows with the prince or even catch his eye.

When Yuuri appeared, Viktor had something to look forward to. A friend, as unconventional as he may be. A friend found in a creature that many cursed and hated. One that had remained with him far longer than he really needed to, listening to him day after day, finding peace in his company. Who began to look at him with gentle fondness in those brown eyes each time he stepped back into the clearing to keep him company for hours a day, to renew the enchantment that kept him safe, then leave with the promise to return soon.

Viktor settles down onto his knees. His hands curl into fists atop his thighs, trembling, his shoulders shaking. It’s hard to blink back the tears, to swallow the thick lump in his throat. But he can’t bring himself to curse Yuuri for leaving without a word. It isn’t like the dragon had any obligation to him. Perhaps it was for the best that he left. So close to the capital city, it was dangerous for him to be there no matter how many spells Viktor could cast. Leaving was safer.

The bushes ahead rustle. His head jerks up in alarm, he is entirely prepared to draw his blade should it be some kind of predator.

It isn’t.

There is a young man stepping into the clearing before him, dripping wet as though he has just bathed. His hair is black, unruly, curling near the nape of his neck. Those brown eyes, framed with thick lashes, are familiar, somehow. He looks foreign.

And he is stark naked.

It takes him a moment to actually notice Viktor’s presence. Viktor is a gentleman, or he tries to be, so he tears his eyes away no matter if he finds this young man attractive. Why is he out here? Dripping wet within the woods, no clothes on his back, easily snatched up by any large animal or filthy bandit?

The stranger makes a strangled sound. Viktor looks up to see those brown eyes on him before the man scrambles back to hide himself in the bushes. The prince rises to his feet quickly, flounders momentarily as his brain tries to come up with just what to do. So he remains rooted in place.

“Are you alright?” He asks when he can find his voice again, in the most gentle tone he can muster. How odd. Then again being seen naked by a stranger is a potentially embarrassing experience. Viktor tends to have no qualms when it came to nudity, yet not everyone is the same.

“Go away!”

Viktor blinks.

_Hold on._ That’s--

“ _Yuuri?_ ”

Viktor knew that dragons were capable of taking on a human form. It helped them blend in. It helped them negotiate with humans. There were also times where they would lie with humans in these forms. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Yuuri was capable of changing like so many others of his kind, yet he never thought to ask about it before.

Maybe he should have, because this probably wasn’t the best way to see it for the first time.

“Go! You weren’t supposed to see me like this.” Yuuri sounds almost… panicked, like he’s just done something horrible. Viktor can get a glimpse of his head over the bushes, hands flying up to his dark hair to grip tight. Did Yuuri not want him to ever see this form? But he looks so lovely, why would Viktor have any issue with it? Was it so they maintained some kind of distance between one another? So Yuuri could keep some parts of himself closed off?

This is something that Viktor is not good at. Comforting others, trying to handle their emotions. He’s incredibly clumsy with it, actually. No one really chooses him as their first option to go to about their emotional troubles, and he can’t fault them for it. Sometimes he can make it even worse when he does try to console them.

“It’s okay, Yuuri. Please stop hiding. I don’t mind.” Viktor winces at his own words because they certainly don’t sound convincing. He crouches by the bushes but moves no closer.

“I didn’t want… not this soon…” Yuuri’s voice sounds watery, like he’s about to cry if he isn’t crying already. It breaks Viktor’s heart, as he wishes he could comfort the other somehow, but Yuuri remains hidden. Viktor nibbles at his bottom lip.

An idea hits him. It’s nothing big or impressive. All he does is untie his cloak so he can pull it off, then hold it over the bushes for Yuuri to take. Hopefully the dragon understands what he is offering. Just a way to conceal himself, and he’s sure some warmth will help him relax. Who knows, maybe Viktor’s familiar scent could ease his nerves? He’s not entirely sure. At least he knows, if he’s understanding Yuuri’s words correctly, that Yuuri was planning to show him eventually, but he had dropped in a little too early.

How silly. Viktor had almost cried because he thought his friend had left forever, only for him to return from Gods know where in an entirely unrecognizable form. He stifles a laugh behind his free hand at the thought. If Yuuri had come by just a few moments later than he did maybe he would have seen Viktor shed tears… ahh, that would have been embarrassing!

He feels a small tug at the end of the cloak he holds out. As Yuuri pulls it in, Viktor lets it slip from his fingers. Then he backs away to settle onto his rear in the center of the clearing. He waits, and waits, and waits. As he waits he continues to think about the image of the young man who turned out to be the very creature he has been hiding and caring for for months.

Yes, he had been very beautiful from what he had seen, though he hadn’t allowed himself to look too long as like any good prince he was taught _manners._ Viktor wants to get a proper look at the very human face of a creature that is not. For now he must sit and wait until Yuuri feels comfortable enough to leave his hiding spot in the bushes. Maybe he’ll just revert back to his original form, maybe Viktor won’t ever again see a glimpse of the young man.

Viktor drags the back of his hand over his forehead, skin hot and damp with sweat. He’s grown accustomed to the harsh summer sun. When he was younger, his pale skin would often get sunburned if he spent too much time playing in the summer heat. Years of training have toughened him. Still, he would love to go for a swim right about now.

The bushes rustling again snap him from his reverie. Yuuri pokes his head out from behind them, then carefully rises with the brown cloak wrapped tight about him. He steps cautiously across the clearing, bare feet making nary a sound against the grass, then drops to his knees before Viktor while continuing to hug that cloak around him securely. While Yuuri had always been small for a dragon, he had still been larger than Viktor. So this is… not what he’s used to. Yuuri like this is smaller. Only by a few inches, certainly, but he is not as broad. It is hard to work out details of his body here, with his own cloak wrapped tight around it. Not like he’s about to ask for a better view.

“I was at the river. Nearby,” Yuuri begins. Viktor takes note of how he refuses to meet his gaze but says nothing of it, instead listening intently. “I wanted to bathe, and cool off. It’s very hot, you know.”

“But you went on your own?”  
  
“I… did.” Yuuri glances to him, the skin between his brows pinched as he furrows them. “Don’t you think it’d be stranger to find a dragon basking in the shallows of a river than a naked man? I was in less danger than I may have been were I to remain in my natural form.”

Well, he has a point. Viktor can’t stop himself from worrying though. After all, there still is danger in walking alone, naked as the day you were born, through the wilderness where he knows the scum of society love to lie in wait for anyone they can ambush, to steal their goods or even steal them themselves.

Viktor sighs, “I had thought you were gone for good.”

Yuuri parts his lips to speak but it seems as though he can’t find the words, since he closes them again. Then opens, then closes.

“I wouldn’t have left without telling you first,” he finally says, and it’s sincere, but with a hint of hurt behind it. Guilt pools and swirls in his gut, because he had so quickly assumed that Yuuri would just run off without saying farewell after the kindness and affection Viktor had offered to him. Did he really doubt Yuuri’s friendship with him that much? Did he really lack that much faith in Yuuri? Yuuri continues, “No… you just got here earlier than I expected.”

When Yuuri shifts closer Viktor doesn’t move, just watches him settle onto his side to rest his head within the prince’s lap like he would often do but in a very different form. Viktor peers down at him, his expression thoughtful. Like this, Yuuri’s face is soft and round. His hair is still damp, but it is glossy and black much like his fur was, shining when the sunlight hits it, curling against his cheeks and his neck, in a very good need of a trimming. Those eyes now shut are framed with thick, long lashes, and Yuuri’s thick brows still seem so tense, as if he’s concentrating very hard on something at all times, or perhaps it’s because of his general anxiousness.

If Viktor looks close enough he can see past those slightly-parted lips ( soft, just slightly chapped ) that Yuuri still sports little fangs where his canines should be. It’s almost cute. He marvels in how the sunlight casts over Yuuri’s face, how his cheeks are tinted a rosy pink.

He is beautiful.

Viktor is only human, he can admire beauty, and sometimes he cannot control his reactions to said beauty. As the sight of this beautiful being in the form of a young man completely nude save for a cloak -- _Viktor’s_ cloak -- resting his head in his lap makes hot sparks shoot down his spine. He bears down hard on the inside of his cheek, tearing his gaze away and willing that sudden heat to fade.

In an attempt to distract himself, but also out of genuine curiosity and concern, he strikes up conversation.

“Why were you so upset?” Viktor asks. “You said I wasn’t supposed to see you like this. Not yet, at least.”

Yuuri’s eyes open. He looks up at Viktor for a moment, then looks away. His face burns a darker shade of pink. “I wanted it to be special,” he admits. “I wanted to look my best.”

Viktor brushes his fingers along the curve of Yuuri’s ear. Yuuri swallows thickly, “You’re a very beautiful human. Everytime you come here, no matter what. That’s what I think. And I wanted to look beautiful for you, too, when you saw me like this.”

“Yuuri…”

“But… You have seen me now, but not as I would’ve liked. I’m sorry if I’m… disappointing.”

Yuuri shuts his eyes tight like he’s anticipating something awful. Viktor moves his fingers from Yuuri’s ear to his hair to stroke slowly, carefully. It’s soft between his fingers, still somewhat slick with river water, creating a damp patch in the leg of his breeches.

“You’re far from disappointing, Yuuri.”

A pause. “Do you mean that?”

“I do.”

That earns him a soft noise from the dragon, but he can’t quite match an emotion to it. Is it happy? Relieved? Distressed? When Yuuri had remained in the form of a great beast, Viktor had thought he had grown to learn his every little nuance in his behavior, had thought he could read Yuuri like a book, as for a long while the dragon would not properly speak to him to voice his emotions. Now, as a human, it’s like Viktor knows almost nothing again. It will take a while to learn all over again, should Yuuri ever again show him this form.

He hopes he does.

For the next hour, Yuuri is so silent that Viktor is sure he’s fallen asleep. So he merely sits there to watch over him, to admire him as much as he can. Gently he brushes his knuckles across Yuuri’s cheek. His dark lashes flutter as he dreams, and Viktor smiles while he wonders just what is going on his head. Are his dreams good? Happy? Or are they scary, memories from long past? Yuuri is not thrashing about, which he takes as a good sign.

Now, however, Viktor has a million ideas flying around his brain.

If Yuuri is now willing to reveal this form to him, then there is the possibility Viktor could bring him back to the city, correct? That is, if Yuuri wants to. It is still risky, and he’s not sure that Yuuri is entirely aware of how to act around humans, or how willing he is to be around so many at once. And what will his mother think, bringing this strange young man to the palace? Viktor is already coming up with excuses, that he found him alone in the woods, hiding from something, and just wishes to help him and that she needn’t worry about him, that he will take care of everything.

He could give him his own room, he could teach him how to present himself around the other humans, he could give him a life that didn’t involve living in fear and running from those that wished him harm. Maybe he could even find someplace where Yuuri could relax in his natural form without disturbance. Viktor would protect him, he would help him be happy. Somehow, someway, he could make it work out.

Yuuri stirs then stretches. There’s suddenly arms around Viktor’s middle as Yuuri hugs him close, nuzzling his face into his belly with a soft, content hum. The dragon rubs his nose against the fabric of Viktor’s shirt, then breathes in deep.

“Are you awake, Yuuri?” Viktor murmurs as he ghosts his fingers through his dark hair. Yuuri nuzzles closer.

“Mm,” is the only response he’s given. Viktor trails his fingers to the nape of Yuuri’s neck, rubbing slowly. That earns him a pleased purr. Admittedly the prince is a little embarrassed, this feels _far_ more intimate than when he would do similar to Yuuri as a dragon. Yuuri doesn’t seem too bothered by it, or maybe he’s too drowsy to care.

“I was thinking…” Viktor begins.

“Stop thinking,” Yuuri yawns.

“Ah, ah, ah. Hear me out, _solnyshko,_ ” he teases. Yuuri grumbles but protests no further. “And, I want you to be looking at me during this. Come on, up you go.”

Yuuri doesn’t even try to fight it as Viktor slips his hands beneath his arms to pull him into a sitting position. The cloak partially falls away, giving Viktor a glimpse of very familiar scars along Yuuri’s ribcage, but Yuuri quickly tugs the cloak around him again. Viktor looks back to his face to see brown eyes watching him expectantly and curiously. It’s such a familiar look. It makes him smile.

“Aren’t you rather bored of hiding in these woods?”

For a moment Yuuri is quiet, but he turns his head about to take in the surroundings of the clearing in quiet contemplation. Sometimes he squints in a way a man with his eyesight slowly failing him might. Viktor makes a mental note of that, but his memory isn’t always the best. Finally, Yuuri looks back at him.

“I guess so,” he replies. There is suspicion in his voice now, but Viktor pays no mind to it.

“Well, what if you came back to my home with me?”

Yuuri blinks rapidly, having difficulty even processing what Viktor’s just said to him, as if the offer is absolutely ludicrous, as if Viktor is an absolute _madman_. Oh, maybe that’s partially true. Viktor continues when Yuuri doesn’t speak.

“Looking like this, you will fit in. Though, I will have to coach you on how to act as humans do. It sounds mad, I know, but it is safer than staying here.” The prince leans in, finding both of Yuuri’s hands in his own to lift and squeeze them gently. “Also! We will get to spend time with one another more often. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

“I… suppose?” Yuuri responds. His reluctance is obvious, but Viktor cannot blame him. Viktor drops one of his hands just to poke Yuuri’s nose. The dragon goes cross-eyed. Then Viktor takes his hand again.

“Yuuri, I will keep you safe. You have my word.” Brown eyes meet blue again. Yuuri worries his bottom lip with his teeth, giving Viktor a proper look at the pointed canines. They’re nothing incredibly obvious, he doubts they’ll really be an issue. “Please, Yuuri. Will you trust me?”

The dragon opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but looks unsure, then closes it again. He furrows his brow then looks down to where their hands are still joined. Yuuri’s are so soft, so warm. Viktor brushes his thumbs over his knuckles.

When Yuuri speaks again he’s barely audible, but what he says makes Viktor’s heart soar, “I’ll trust you, Viktor.”

“Perfect--”

“--but,” Yuuri cuts him off, pulling his hands away, “I’m still scared. Things could still go terribly wrong…”

Viktor leans in again. This time, he cups Yuuri’s chin to keep their gazes level with one another. Worry swims about Yuuri’s wide-eyed gaze and even now he still tries to look anywhere but Viktor. The prince runs his thumb over Yuuri’s jaw. “You are always such a pessimist, but I understand. Still! Do not underestimate what I am capable of. You are in good hands.”

Yuuri sighs, but then he smiles. A tiny little upturn of his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes but is still so genuine. Viktor’s heart flutters.

“Alright.”

In his delight he nearly crushes Yuuri in a hug, earning him a startled squawk from the dragon who quickly relaxes to return the embrace. Viktor feels him nuzzle into his shoulder, feels his soft hair tickle his skin.

The rest of their time that day is spent discussing what they will do. Tomorrow afternoon, Viktor will visit as he always does. He will bring along clothing, of course, as Yuuri arriving entirely in the nude wouldn’t be a great first impression. They will return to Kypol on Viktor’s horse, and Viktor will tell his mother how he stumbled across and rescued this lost young man who had been ambushed by bandits in the woods. He will tell her that Yuuri has nowhere to go, and that he will lend the young man one of the many unused bedrooms, and perhaps Yuuri could be Viktor’s student in magic! Oh, he’s sure she will be incredulous, but Yuuri barely looks like a threat. Just an anxious young man in desperate need of refuge. Plus, like Viktor, she is soft at heart, but does well to hide it.

When the sun begins to fall, Viktor is bidding farewell to Yuuri. They stand in the center of the clearing, Yuuri still wrapped in Viktor’s coak, with Viktor’s hands on his arms.

“Don’t worry, Yuuri. All will be well,” he promises, and he means it. No matter what he has to do, he will ensure Yuuri’s safety. “You will see.”

Yuuri smiles at him again. He’s smiled at him often today, and it’s radiant. It lights up his face, it makes his eyes sparkle. In the glow of the setting sun, it makes him look almost ethereal. Viktor tries to calm his pounding heart.

“Okay,” the dragon says, his voice barely above a whisper. When Viktor’s hands fall away, Yuuri moves to pull the cloak off only for Viktor to stop him.

“No, you can keep it.”

Yuuri tilts his head, puzzled, then just nods.

“Okay,” he says again. Then he reaches up suddenly. Viktor watches without moving as Yuuri curls his fingers into the collar of his shirt, then lets himself be tugged down so their foreheads touch. Yuuri closes his eyes, takes a shaky breath, then whispers, “You’ve done more for me than I could ever ask.”

Viktor closes his eyes as well. “We are friends, Yuuri. I only wish for you to be happy.”

When he opens his eyes, he sees Yuuri staring at him again with a smile still on his face. They remain standing there for a few moments longer, foreheads touching and breathing calm, then Yuuri releases his grip. Viktor already misses the comfortable closeness when Yuuri draws back.

The prince straightens his back then offers a dazzling smile.

“I will see you tomorrow, then,” he says.

Yuuri pauses, nods again, then smiles wider. “See you.”

As Viktor leaves the clearing, he feels light as a feather. Briefly he glances back to find that familiar form of a beautiful beast now curled up in the clearing, partially concealed by the trees. He can’t help his grin.

That evening at dinner he knows his excitement is obvious, but no one asks. Then later, in his chambers, he can hardly sleep, terribly giddy, and he finally manages to succumb to sleep just before the sun begins to rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> viktor's a scalie
> 
> the fic's title comes from the song ['love story' by indila](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DF3XjEhJ40Y)!
> 
> my friend émile (MILFTANKS on twitter) drew a beautiful picture of yuuri's dragon form for me! you can view it in high quality on FA [here!](http://www.furaffinity.net/view/23000982/)
> 
> my twitter is [here](http://twitter.com/yuurigif)! i'll post about updates there! you can ask me questions or anything idk please talk to me i'm dyin scoob  
> my tumblr is [here](http://yuuriofficial.tumblr.com), if you would prefer to ask questions anonymously.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring was rapidly approaching when Yuuri knew he was about to meet his death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

It was twenty-three years after Yuuri-ryuu arrived into the world before he saw humans -- _real_ humans -- for the first time.

For his kind, he had lived a relatively peaceful life. His parents were both much older, they had told him about how they fled during the war years prior into the green mountains so far from any civilization. They did not fight, they could not, so instead they had made a life hidden from the race that only wished them harm. Yuuri had grown beside a spring deep within the mountains, continuously filled by a tall, thin waterfall then leading off into a river through the mountains.

His family had turned this spring into a safe haven. They warmed the waters with their flames and any of their kind passing through could stop to rest before carrying on. Yuuri saw many different kinds of dragons, some like him and his sister Mari-ryuu and his parents, and some unlike any he had seen before. With wings, or feathers, or six legs or two legs or no legs at all.

When he was small, he had been a pudgy thing, perpetually nervous, but not without fierce determination to get things done when he put his mind to them. At only a year old he demanded to be called _son_ rather than _daughter,_ which his family had no objections to.

By eight he was still struggling with conquering flight. So he often scaled the rocks to the top of the waterfall to leap off in hopes of _something,_ only to create a splash in the warm waters of the spring below and cause the older visiting dragons resting there to grumble in mild annoyance. Imagine his excitement and pride when he finally managed to remain in the air, soon racing his sister to the peaks of mountains then back down again. Yuuri did not have many others to play with as a young dragon besides his sister, as he learned there were not many young dragons left in the world.

He learned to hunt easily, proudly returning cranes or deer or boars back home after hours exploring with his sister. Yuuri found he especially liked the taste of boar.

As he grew older, his parents taught him the ways of changing his image from one of a dragon to one of a human. As their son, his human form acquired traits from their own. Yuuri did not understand why he needed it, but his parents told him he never knew when it would come in handy. So he did not complain, but he seldom ever used this ability.

Yuuri had lived a quiet, happy life with little to fear.

It was the middle of winter when everything changed.

It was not a particularly harsh winter, but his family still curled up together for warmth every night. It was secure and comfortable. The night was silent save for the soft, occasional hooting of an owl or a fox chasing after tiny nocturnal rodents. It was well into the night when another sound was carried in by the soft, chilled breeze. It was not one that is familiar to Yuuri, and he’s not sure he would have ever even heard it had he not been struggling to sleep that night. He lifted his head from where it was rested on Mari’s back, pricking his ears forward towards the line of trees that the river flowed into.

The humans that suddenly appeared in their little safe haven caught them entirely by surprise. There was shouting, screaming, Yuuri was separated from his parents and his sister. He hadn’t ever remembered a time before then that he had ever felt so scared. He had cried out loudly in pain and in terror as they threw a net over him, wrangled him to the ground and wrapped his snout and tied his legs with thick rope that rubbed his skin raw.

Mari, who had managed to knock aside the men that had come for her, had tried to rush to his aid only for him to shriek for her to _flee_ because someone in their little family should survive. Yuuri shrieked, shrieked, and shrieked at her until the last sight of her was her taking to the skies in a flash of black and golden fur.

Then his surroundings went black as something solid met the side of his skull.

When he had awoken within a cage too small for him to properly stretch out, his head pounding, his bones aching, the taste of his blood in his mouth, he had been nothing short of confused and panicked. He had tried to summon his flames, only for thick smoke to spill from his maw. Yuuri did not know where he was, just that he was confined too tightly, in a cage on an intricate human contraption made from wood now surrounded on all sides by the endless expanse of sea.

The journey across land and sea continued for two months. They were the most miserable two months of his life. The humans fed him of course, they needed him to keep some of his strength and stay alive. Whatever they fed him snuffed out his flames, occasionally he was sedated if he was acting up too much. They would hit him, hurl verbal abuse at him. Sometimes other dragons, ones that looked different from him, were brought along, but they never spoke to one another. Yuuri had grown exhausted, depressed, and could not find it within himself to fight anymore.

Where was his family? Did Mari make it out alive? Is she safe? What of his parents?

He could still sense the faint connection to his sister, one often shared between family members of his kind, which gave him hope that she _was_ alive somewhere. Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever see her again, but he could find peace in knowing she was okay, or so he hoped. As for his mother and father, well… he was not so sure.

Spring was rapidly approaching when Yuuri knew he was about to meet his death.

The humans had led him across the camp by a chain, stopping in the center where fresh blood caked the dirt already from other unfortunate young dragons like himself. Yuuri hadn’t watched as they were beheaded one by one, but he had heard the sickening crunch of bone and squish of flesh as the axes tore through. They had forced him down, his face shoved into the blood of his kin, filling his nostrils with the scent of it.

He thought of Mari who was still out there somewhere. He thought of his parents. He thought of their safe little spring where he had lived his entire life. He thought of the days spent chasing his sister through the woods, or racing through the skies. The days he dozed in the warm shallows of the spring. The sound of crickets or frogs in the summer nights. The life he lived with little problems only for that peace to be destroyed in an instant.

That fire within him roared to life. It had left a few of the men holding him down shrieking in pain as they fell to the dirt in an attempt to put out the fires in their clothes. Yuuri had swiped his tail in a wide arc to knock down a few more, then ramming his head into another that dared got in his way.

Before any of them could fully process what had transpired, Yuuri had fled into the skies with chains still around his front legs. He didn’t stop flying for days, through unfamiliar lands that brought more dangers with them. He didn’t stop flying until exhaustion nearly made him fall from the sky. The landing had been clumsy and he fell asleep almost immediately, waking two days later starving and thirsty.

He had struggled to remove the chains from his legs, biting into them and tugging, scratching them against stones and trees, until hours of struggling wore at them and they had snapped over a sharp rock and he could abandon the shackles in the dirt.

Yuuri had little time to celebrate anything. For three weeks he ran. He did not know where he was going, but anywhere far from where he had left those cruel humans was ideal.

One day he had been carefully navigating through unfamiliar woods, stalking a family of deer not too far off. He had been so focused that he did not notice the large, brown beast lumbering close by. Yuuri had made the mistake of drawing in too close, and the bear had grown threatened. It rose up onto its hind legs and gave a furious roar. They toppled onto the path with snapping jaws and Yuuri had sent the bear running with a missing eye and face torn, while he himself had escaped with deep gouges in his flank where the animal had swiped with its claws.

He was quick to flee back into the woods, not caring of the bloody mess left behind or the other signs of a fight.

It was only ten minutes later, while he was desperately licking at the wounds to make the flow of blood halt, that he heard movement out on the path again. Through the trees, he could see it was not a bear. It was a white creature perhaps only as tall as he, with wary brown eyes and powerful muscles beneath its coat. A horse, yes, he had seen the humans that had kept him prisoner use them sometimes.

Speaking of humans…

Yuuri had pressed back against the trees as the human male that had been atop the horse, which had obviously sensed his presence, slid off and began to approach where he was now hidden. He considered fleeing, but his injuries would not allow him that luxury without excruciating pain. So he sat there frozen as his eyes met with striking blue.

The human that had stepped into the clearing that day, helped heal his wounds, gave him a name that was not his own, then promised to return again and again, altered his life in such a way that Yuuri did not understand yet.

 

\---

 

Yuuri never knew much about love, at least in the romantic sense. The only example he ever had were his parents who loved one another dearly. Dragons did mate for life, after all. He knew how it was to love his family, but it was a different sort of love than between mates. That was a love he expected to neither feel nor understand.

Yet as he clutches the cloak that feels so soft against his skin, while he watches his friend disappear back towards the path with a promise of giving him a new life starting just the next day, he begins to think that he’s falling in love with the human prince Viktor Nikiforov.

 

\---

 

The sun is high in the sky when Yuuri finally wakes. It’s terribly hot, the black of his fur easily absorbing the sunlight, and he’s thankful a good portion of it is blocked out by the canopy of branches and leaves overhead. Ears swivel about to pick up the sounds of the woods around him. He hears the light steps of a doe against the leaves, a squirrel’s claws as it races up the trunk of a tree nearby, a mother fox slipping into her den to feed her kits that whine appreciatively.

He’s hungry, but he knows he shouldn’t eat yet, because he’s sure Viktor will introduce him to some sort of human meals when he arrives to take him back to the city in which he lives.

Yuuri is scared.

It was humans that ruined his life, that brought him all this way in the first place. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t miss his little home in the mountains, the springs where he would relax in the warmth of the shallows, the thick forests he’d hunt in with his sister. His sister, his parents, where are they? He still senses his sister deep within his mind, their connection never broken yet now so terribly faint. At least she is still alive, but he does not know if she is safe. Maybe she’s hiding, too, or maybe she’s looking for him?

In just a few hours time, he will be surrounded by the very beings that tore his life asunder. Yuuri trusts Viktor, or he _wants_ to, but things could go so terribly wrong if there happened to be even one minor slip-up. The only interaction he ever had with humans were those poachers, the ones that dragged him across unfamiliar countries for two months, showing off their catch before they planned to kill him. Then after that there was Viktor, and even now he is terrified that the prince is only toying with his mind and when they reach the city he will expose Yuuri, and Yuuri’s life will promptly be brought to an end.

The rational part of his brain says that is a silly thing to think, because if Viktor wanted Yuuri dead then he’d be dead already. Viktor wouldn’t have been visiting him almost daily for the past few months, feeding him, keeping him company, reading fantastical tales from the novels he would often bring, and telling him about life within the city and palace walls. Alas, that nagging fear will never leave him, as that is how he has always been; full of endless doubt no matter the situation.

He blinks the sleep from his eyes then gives a low sigh, nostrils flaring, then drops his head back to the ground. Viktor should be arriving soon, or so Yuuri hopes. Everytime he knew to expect the human prince to visit, his heart was full of equal amounts of anxiety and excitement. He always looked forward to it. The fear of what is to come still pricks at his heart, but he can forget about it for now as he waits for his dear friend to return.

It is half an hour later when he hears the steady click of hooves making their way along the path. Yuuri jerks his head up, alert, as it is not always Viktor who makes his way through these woods. This could very well be some other traveler, so he cannot risk to expose himself. Instead he stays put, lowers his head just a bit to watch through the openings between the tree trunks.

The horse stops in the middle of the path, white coat glittering beneath the sun. Yuuri releases the breath he had been holding when he sees the human who lowers himself from the horse’s back. Viktor didn’t often come into the woods on horseback to visit Yuuri, he thinks this is the second time he’s seen it, if one were to count the day of their very first meeting.

“Yuuuuri,” that familiar voice coos as Viktor steps through the undergrowth into the clearing. His blue eyes are shimmering and warm and Yuuri feels his heart flutter. There is a brown leather bag of some sort in Viktor’s hand, which Yuuri eyes curiously. Then he rises to his feet, stretching his neck out when Viktor sets the bag down to approach him. Those familiar fingers running along his snout, through the fur of his face, earn a pleased rumble from deep within his chest. Viktor giggles when Yuuri nuzzles his nose against his cheek.

He takes note of the shadows beneath Viktor’s eyes and he wonders just how much the prince has slept, but he doesn’t comment on it because Viktor’s already pulling away to pick up the bag while talking again, “I brought a few things along with me. Are you ready?”

“I think so,” Yuuri responds, embarrassed at the hesitant edge to his voice. Viktor smiles at him and that smile is enough to make him relax almost entirely. Yuuri stretches out, closes his eyes, and in a burst of mist and wind he stands there as a human, completely bare, still not quite used to the feeling but not finding it too unpleasant. When he notices that Viktor is suddenly not looking at him directly, that self-doubt runs through him again. Viktor said that he didn’t think of Yuuri as disappointing in this form, but is that really true? Yuuri isn’t sure. Maybe he _is_ ugly, and the scars along his side only make it worse. He quickly lifts the cloak Viktor had gifted him the night prior to wrap around himself, then reaches out to take the bag that Viktor has offered to him.

“Once you’re dressed, then we can leave,” Viktor states simply, turning as though to give Yuuri some privacy which… Yuuri doesn’t really understand. A human thing, he supposes.

But heat rushes up to his face out of sheer embarrassment due to something else. He opens the bag, first pulling out the long-sleeved brown shirt from within. The soft ‘um’ he breathes out makes Viktor turn curiously. What Yuuri says next only makes him blush brighter.

“I… don’t know how,” he admits, looking anywhere but the prince.

“To put clothes on?” Viktor asks, and when Yuuri looks up he sees pink growing on the human’s face.

“I’ve never had to,” Yuuri mumbles. Is Viktor angry? Does he think Yuuri is stupid? “I’m sorry.”

Viktor is suddenly extremely close in only a matter of moments. The shirt and bag are pulled from his hands slowly. Viktor slings the article of clothing over his shoulder to hang there for the time being then reaches into the bag to pull out a pair of smallclothes. From here, Yuuri can hear Viktor’s heartbeat accelerating. He had noticed it yesterday, too. He had also noticed that soft blush spreading over Viktor’s skin.

“Let’s start with these first,” Viktor says gently as he kneels down, holding the smallclothes out with both hands. Yuuri nibbles at his bottom lip, feeling his canines lightly scrape over the skin, then drops the cloak to the ground so he can reach out to take the clothing.

“No, no. Here, put your feet in the holes.” Yuuri feels himself blush right down to his collar bones, thinking that he must look like a fool. But he follows the instructions nonetheless, lifting one foot to awkwardly slip it into one hole. Viktor slips the clothing partially up his leg, then nods to the other. Yuuri repeats the action, but this time grabs Viktor’s shoulder to steady himself until his foot is on the ground again and Viktor is pulling the small clothes up completely.

He watches Viktor reach into the bag again to present a pair of black trousers.

“The same thing with these.”

It’s a little more difficult this time, trying to wiggle into the long legs of the trousers, but with Viktor’s steady hand suddenly on his hip to keep him balanced he manages it soon enough. Just _this_ feels weird, the fabric covering his skin, textures unfamiliar to him. Yuuri isn’t sure if he finds it uncomfortable or not. It’ll take some getting used to.

Finally, Viktor takes the shirt from where it hangs over his shoulder and circles around Yuuri.

“Hold your arms out, please,” he says close to Yuuri’s ear, and Yuuri complies almost immediately. Viktor fits his arms into the sleeves of the shirt, tugs at the ends which are just a smidge too long, then moves to his front again. Yuuri fumbles with one of the buttons, but Viktor pushes his hands away to button the shirt up himself. Slowly, carefully, the act feeling _too_ intimate in a way. That blush on Viktor’s face still hasn’t faded. In fact, it looks like it’s only intensified the further up Viktor buttons.

Then, after fixing the collar of the shirt and buckling a belt he slipped through the loops on the trousers, he is suddenly done and beaming down at Yuuri.

“I took them from the servant’s quarters,” Viktor admits with a light dusting of pink still remaining over his cheeks. Viktor’s hand is on his arm, the touch feather-light. Yuuri likes it, but he prefers it when there’s no linen separating their skin. “We’ll find you something else soon. These will do for today.”

Yuuri doesn’t respond, or at least not immediately. He looks down at himself while Viktor settles the cloak over his shoulders, to his still-bare feet, still unsure how to feel and if he likes this or not. Yuuri wiggles his toes and Viktor follows his gaze, giving a soft gasp in realization.

“Oh, of course!” He rummages through the bag again to pull out a pair of shoes. Yuuri eyes them warily, opening his mouth to protest but Viktor is pushing him down to sit before he can say a word. The prince kneels before him, taking a delicate ankle into his careful grip to slip the cotton flat on easily. The size is almost perfect, just a tad big, but tolerable. He does the same with the other foot, rises to stand, but Yuuri remains sitting there staring at his feet with brows pinched together.

“Is it alright?” Viktor asks after a moment of silence.

Yuuri looks up at him.

“It feels weird,” he mumbles, then pushes himself up. When he takes a step forward, it feels awkward. Yuuri’s gait is a bit clumsy and he stumbles, Viktor catching his arm with a laugh to keep him from falling, pulling him back. It seems like today will be full of too many new things, and Yuuri isn’t sure his anxiety-ridden heart is very prepared for that. It pounds hard within his chest.

He doesn’t look back at Viktor, choosing instead to focus ahead of him through the trees. Like this, his vision seems to have declined. The horse he had been able to see clearly through the trees beforehand now is nothing more than a blurry mess of white among the browns and greens of the woods. The further away everything is from him, the harder it is to see it. Yuuri’s senses as a human compared to his natural form are much different. It’ll take some getting used to.

Repeatedly he tells himself in his head to trust Viktor’s guidance. The human may be eccentric, a little pushy, loud and excitable, but he is also kind and honest and tender.

With Viktor’s hand on his elbow to keep him from tripping, they step from the clearing. Yuuri doesn’t look back.

The horse, Ludmila he learns her name is, stares at him warily and all he can do is stare back. She paws at the ground, snorts loudly which causes Yuuri to startle. The beast is so much bigger than him like this. As beautiful as she is, she is still frightening to him. What with her large hooves capable of crushing bones and the frightening power in her muscles. Even if he were to face her as he truly is, he would still be nervous.

For now Viktor does not give them much time to grow acquainted. That can happen later. What’s important is getting back to the city, then the castle, then seeking council with Viktor’s mother, Sofiya Nikiforova -- and until Viktor takes the throne, the Queen and sole ruler of Seskia.

 

( _“What happened to your father?” He remembers asking once. Viktor’s eyes suddenly seemed very sad._

 _“Ah, he died long ago, but my mother rules the kingdom just as well as she did at his side.”_ )

 

“Put your foot in the stirrup here, hold onto the saddle.” He directs Yuuri’s hand to the raised part at the back of the saddle, the other near the end of the mare’s mane. Yuuri awkwardly lifts his left foot to the stirrup, then pushes off the ground with his right. Ludmila shifts, the slight movement enough to throw him off balance enough that his feet almost drop back to the ground.

Then Viktor’s hands are suddenly at his waist, lifting him before his foot can slip from the stirrup, and Yuuri gasps in surprise. It hadn’t exactly occurred to him until just now that yes, he is in fact smaller and lighter than Viktor like this, so Viktor _can_ lift him onto the horse’s back with ease. His hands are warm even through Yuuri’s shirt, the touch leaving a pleasant tingle against his skin that lingers long after Viktor has pulled away.

“Alright?” The prince asks. Yuuri looks down to meet those clear blue eyes, focused only on him, concern and fondness so clear within their gaze that there’s _no way_ Yuuri can twist the meaning behind those emotions and overthink them even if he wanted to, even if his anxiety continues gnawing away at his brain. Heat rushes back up to his face. He looks away fast.

“Alright,” he confirms. Viktor laughs quietly, then pushes himself onto the saddle with ease. It’s a tight fit, Yuuri slotted against Viktor’s chest while Viktor grips onto Ludmila’s reins then wills the horse to move.

Warm breath tickles against his ear as they move. First, it’s a steady walk down the pathway, then when they break through the trees into the open field Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat when their surroundings suddenly begin to blur -- and not purely because of his weakened vision. Ludmila has now broken into a trot, which makes Yuuri bounce awkwardly on top of the saddle. Then suddenly it’s a canter. Yuuri makes an alarmed sound then grasps at the front of the saddle tightly, but caged between Viktor’s arms he doubts he’ll fall. Behind him, he hears the prince laugh again then lean forward against his back, which in turn pushes Yuuri forward. His hands move to the mare’s pale mane instantly, then suddenly they’re moving in a gallop and Yuuri is sure his thighs and rear will be hurting later. He already feels the burn from the leather seat, even with the padding.

“You’ll get used to it,” Viktor murmurs close to his ear like he’s read Yuuri’s mind. Yuuri doesn’t respond, his eyes big and round as they stare at the blurring landscape around them. Closer and closer do the walls of the city grow, Yuuri can see the roofs of high buildings peeking out over the top of the wall and panic runs through him when he remembers that he’ll be surrounded by humans when they enter. Lips part to plead for Viktor to stop, to let him go back, but suddenly the horse is being steered along the path circling around the city and that panic turns into confusion.

“What--”

“It’s easier to go straight to the palace,” Viktor explains. “Safer, too.” Ludmila slows back into a steady canter. Yuuri desperately wants to get off of the horse, because he feels like his rear end is going to bruise if he stays on much longer, and he feels a little sick to his stomach. But the rest of the journey is quick, Yuuri is trying to block out the very overwhelming scent of humans and everything else the nearby city of Kypol has to offer, instead focusing on the man pressed against his back whose arms on either side of him keep him safe from sliding off of the horse’s back. His scent is familiar. Warm, slightly musky, with a hint of sweetness Yuuri can only attribute to whatever Viktor uses to wash himself.

He’s sure that overwhelming, unfamiliar stench from the city would be even worse if they went straight through. Yuuri appreciates it for now, because this will probably be the easiest part of this whole ordeal anyway. Soon he will be out there among the humans, the ones who would not hesitate to kill him should they figure out who-- _what_ he really is. For now he lets himself be grateful, he wants to believe Viktor will keep him safe and do whatever he can to ensure his well-being.

The closer they get to the palace, the more frightened Yuuri becomes. It’s imposing on its own. He knows that what he sees now, the main building tall enough that he thinks it will pierce the Heavens, and the two wings branching off at the sides, are only a small portion of the entire property. At least if every description Viktor had given him over the past few months are to be believed. Well, it certainly appears as grand as it had been described. He guesses he’ll have time to properly appreciate it later when his heart doesn’t feel ready to burst and his eyes don’t burn with the threat of panicked tears.

Then Ludmila is slowing into a trot. Viktor ever-so-lightly tugs at her reins, giving a low ‘whoa’ to signal her to stop. She lifts her head back with a snort, then slowly halts. Yuuri blinks. Why are they stopping? They aren’t at the palace yet. He turns his head to give Viktor a questioning look, his brows knitting together and his confusion made obvious with a tilt of his head.

“I just remembered,” Viktor says, dropping one hand from the reins to settle it on Yuuri’s hip. It’s enough to make heat shoot up his spine, then spread out over his throat and cheeks. He looks away quickly. “Your family name. I’m guessing you don’t have one?”

“What?” By the tone of his voice he knows that it’s obvious he has absolutely no clue what Viktor is talking about. The prince tenses behind him, then sighs. Yuuri looks back again.

“Ah… a name shared by all -- or most -- members of your family. Mine are the Nikiforovs. Yura is from the Plisetskys. So on, and so forth. Does this make sense?”

_Not really._

“Yes.”

Viktor doesn’t look convinced.

“It would be useful to have one. For mostly formal purposes, really. So you can properly introduce yourself to others.” At least Viktor doesn’t sound annoyed, only thoughtful. “Maybe you could take a name from one of the humans from your homela--”

“--No. I had never met humans before. I told you this.” His voice is unmistakably indignant. It’s a bit of a lie, he had met humans before Viktor, but that’s something he’d prefer not to talk about, and he refuses to share a name with any of the men that imprisoned and abused him. That detail is something Viktor doesn’t know about.

Yet.

Yuuri wonders if he can keep it a secret forever.

Viktor sighs behind him. “I could give you one. There have been plenty of visitors from the East in the past, a few even residing in Kypol. Still, I’m sure you’re tired of me calling you names that are not your own.”

“If it’s so important, then go ahead.” To be honest Yuuri doesn’t _mean_ to sound so snappy, but he’s anxious, he’s stressed, he’s scared, and this is just more new, strange information being crammed into his head. Yuuri directs his gaze away so he can instead glare at the back of Ludmila’s neck. Viktor adjusts himself in the saddle. His hand still remains on Yuuri’s hip.

It seems like the mere minute they sit there while Viktor thinks stretches on for hours. It’s hard not to wiggle uncomfortably on the saddle.

“I met this one traveling artist a year or so ago. Goodness, what was his name… Katsuki? Something like that. He was very kind.”

“Was he a decent artist?” Yuuri asks.

“Oh, not really, but he was a wonderful conversation partner.”

Yuuri pinches his brows together. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m neither an artist nor a wonderful conversation partner.”

“Nonsense. We have lovely conversations.”

Yuuri knows he’s red in the face now.

Viktor taps at Yuuri’s hip idly. “Do you like it? Katsuki?”

He can’t deny that it’s a nice name. After a stretch of silence, he nods slowly. “Sure.”

Viktor hums happily. Yuuri can hear the smile in his voice, and though he’s not looking at Viktor he’s sure that endearing smile is wide on his face.

“Yuuri Katsuki. It has a ring, doesn’t it?”

 

\---

 

It doesn’t take long at all for panic to set in again.

There is a rush of activity when they approach the front of the palace. Yuuri tries to ignore the men -- guards -- dressed in armor with weapons at their hips, casting him curious glances which he doesn’t meet. They greet their prince with short bows, then step aside to allow passage through the gatehouse.

It’s all a blur from then on out. Viktor helps him off of the horse who then is led away by the reins by a boy Yuuri can only guess is little more than sixteen-years-old. Everyone speaks in a language he can’t really understand, so he remains quiet, and no one inquires about him. That he’s _aware_ of, at least. Outside of a few glances he may as well be invisible, and he prefers it that way. Yuuri keeps his eyes on the ground, his fingers curled into Viktor’s sleeve, then they’re walking down a wide path lined by off-white colonnades but Yuuri doesn’t really register his surroundings.

All within the span of fifteen minutes they’re entering the castle, walking across smooth and pristine floors, Yuuri still embarrassed over his clumsy gait in the shoes. Viktor keeps him close and his presence is a comfort on its own. It’s difficult not to just nuzzle right into his arm, Yuuri knows it would look strange to the humans around them. Suspicious. Maybe scandalous. Their prince bringing an unfamiliar young man back to the castle like this was strange enough.

The carpet which stretches across the length of the room, splitting it in two, is a vivid purple, embroidered with swirling designs of golden that glint beneath the glowing lights hanging from the high ceiling. There’s a flurry of activity, he registers Viktor’s hand settling on the small of his back, then a pair of doors at the left side of the room are swinging open.

A tall woman, flanked by two men with a third close behind, strides in. All attention goes to her in the span of a split second. Even Yuuri can’t stop himself from tearing his eyes from the floor to watch her. She is clad in black, light armor, which fits her form well to give her a proper range of mobility while also doing well to protect her from harm. Her hair, a silver streaked with white from age, is tied up tightly high on her head, a few strands hanging over her forehead and falling from the hairband. Every angle of her face is sharp. Still, she would look quite motherly if it weren’t for her eyes. A vivid blue, rivaling that of Viktor’s. They hold a fierce, determined gaze.

The woman is, at least, in her late forties, perhaps early fifties…? Well, Yuuri guesses so. He doesn’t have many humans to compare her to. She is certainly older, but not terribly old. She holds herself with back straight and head high. Every step is steady and elegant. Everyone within the throne room remains silent, bowing their heads or giving the smallest curtsies as she passes.

Simply her _presence,_ her _aura,_ is enough to command attention and respect. Her posture, her stride, screams power and regality. And, gods, she is beautiful, so much like the man that she calls her _son._

Judging by the sheen of sweat on her face, along with her armor, she had been busy when they arrived. Yuuri had expected the Queen to be prim, proper, elegant, even if she had so much power within the palm of her hand. Well, she’s certainly elegant, but she appears so fearsome that he feels his anxiety crawl further beneath his skin.

One of the men at her side begins to speak in a loud, booming voice, in that language he cannot understand, that makes Yuuri startle, but with a flick of the Queen’s wrist and a few soft words he falls silent. She says something in a musical yet commanding voice. Yuuri does not know what, but everyone that had been around begins to file out quickly save for Viktor, who keeps Yuuri at his side, and two guards posted at the entrance.

“Vitya,” she sighs, then says something again in their native tongue and damn it, how can he do anything around here if no one will speak in a language he can understand? Dragons are supposed to pick up on these things easily, they’re supposed to understand every language of man, but Yuuri certainly does not. It’s only thanks to his mother and father that he learned to speak not only the tongue of the country in which he was born, but the common tongue of the world as well.

Queen Sofiya sounds… not angry, at least, but exasperated. It seems like she hasn’t even noticed Yuuri’s presence, she hasn’t even given him a single glance! Yuuri peers up at Viktor’s face, taking note of the rather embarrassed expression he wears as his mother speaks to him. Not like a Queen would speak to those subordinate to her, but like a mother to her child. Yuuri knows that well, it is a tone his mother had taken with him more than once. A stab of grief thrusts into his heart.

(In a way he supposes man and dragon are not too much unlike one another.)

Viktor, bless his heart, clears his throat and speaks in a language Yuuri _can_ understand, “Mother, that is a discussion that can wait for later. I’ve come to ask something of you.”

Yuuri feels a nudge at his back. Suddenly, sharp blue eyes are focused on him. He lets out a startled sound, every instinct telling him to run, but he feels rooted in place as the Queen looks him up and down curiously. Warily. Suspiciously. When Yuuri says nothing, as he’s having quite a difficult time finding his voice at the moment, she throws Viktor a questioning glance with her brow raised.

“His name is Yuuri Katsuki,” Viktor sighs. Yuuri exhales slowly. “I found him in the woods with only the clothes on his back.”

Then Viktor launches into the story of how when he found Yuuri, Yuuri had tried to lash out at him with magic before realizing he was friendly. He tells her how she knows he’s been looking for an apprentice in magic and that he thinks Yuuri is the _perfect_ candidate. That he’ll also teach him how to be a proper nobleman.

The way she curls her index finger (which appears more like a claw with the gauntlets she wears; fitting given her fierce aura) over her lips in thought would be funny, maybe a little endearing, in any other circumstance, because the family resemblance obviously isn’t only in simple appearances. Right now Yuuri can’t appreciate that. Under her scrutiny he feels powerless. He knows if he were to change right here he could stand a chance against her, but he is unaware of how proficient she is in the art of battle, while he has little to no experience.

Then her lips curl upward. There is a twinkle in her eye that seems almost mischievous.

“He is a very timid thing,” she comments. Yuuri feels his face go hot. He must look a little offended, because she laughs and the skin at the corner of her eyes crinkles. The Queen looks to Viktor and says something quickly in their native tongue that makes Viktor tense, cough loudly, then slip his hand from Yuuri’s back. There’s a rushed response, then Sofiya speaks again.

“I would like for Katsuki to speak to me himself.”

Oh, gods.

“Tell me, why were you traveling on your own? Why have you come all the way here? What business have you in Kypol?” Sofiya pauses, then continues. “You are foreign. You do not come from Seskia. Strange, you do not strike me as an adventurous man.” It’s not meant to be mean, Yuuri knows, but he can’t help but feel a little insulted.

Yuuri is having trouble meeting her gaze. It feels so much like her eyes can see into his very soul, even if that fierce stare has dwindled into something much more welcoming. He desperately wants to reach out so he can hold tight onto Viktor’s arm, because Viktor is a comfort. Viktor has protected him these past few months. Viktor knows what to do in these situations.

“I--” What was he supposed to say? What story did they come up with? It’s all escaping him instantly. Yuuri finds words failing him. The pressure is weighing down on him.

What comes out is… not entirely a lie. Not the full truth, of course, but as close as he can get without giving himself away. It’s surprising, since he feels like he has no control over what he’s saying right now, it’s just that anxiety and fear making him speak. His words rushed, stumbling. Yuuri knows he’ll be embarrassed about how gracelessly he’s carrying himself later. Honestly, he already is.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he says. He’s worried that he’s spoken too softly, as she does not respond. Still, he continues. “I was taken from my home against my will, just this past winter. I do not have a family. I do not know what has become of them. I was brought across so many unfamiliar lands, and then I escaped. Through some miracle, I escaped.”

 

_Fire and blood and agonized, terrified screams of men that brought nothing but pain and torture. Music to his ears as he took to the skies once more._

 

Yuuri swallows.

“To be honest, I don’t know why your son has taken an interest in me, only that I am thankful for it.”

Viktor looks down and meets Yuuri’s eyes with a smile. The Queen hums, and when Yuuri looks at her he can see that same smile on her face.

 

\---

 

How the _hell_ they had convinced the Queen to allow all of this was beyond Yuuri, but it happened, through some miracle. Viktor seemed as shock as Yuuri still is. He knows they’ll need to talk with her more, but they had caught her in the middle of practicing her battle magic, so it’ll have to come later.

 

\---

 

The servant’s quarters are much more pleasant than Yuuri had expected. He’s only here to have a few things sent up to his new room, a nice room that Viktor had wheedled his mother into giving him.

Certainly there wasn’t much in the way of privacy in these quarters, but nearly everyone seemed warm and familiar to one another. A tight little family, you could say, and that is a feeling Yuuri desperately missed. The only problem is he is here, standing among multiple unfamiliar humans without Viktor at his side to guide him, and he’s sure his fear is incredibly evident upon his face.

A boy with dark skin and hair and sparkling black eyes is the first to reach out to Yuuri when he arrives, staring dumbly at the clean white walls with tacky wallpaper and high ceilings even long after the guard escorting him had departed. There’s a gentle touch to his shoulder that makes him jolt, he almost nearly lashes out at the stranger who only stares at him with curiosity and excitement. Even with that fear that has rooted itself within Yuuri’s heart, he cannot deny the pull that this strange boy has. As if the whole room is brighter with him in it, and Yuuri gravitates towards his light like a moth to a flame. For months, Viktor had been his sole source of companionship. He had expected it to remain that way, but now he feels like he’s about to make at least one more friend here.

“Oh!” The boy draws his hand back. Beneath one arm are freshly-cleaned sheets, but he’s seemed to have forgotten them for the moment even though they remain clasped firmly against him. He says something in the same language everyone else had been speaking to each other, but quickly switches when seeing the lost expression on Yuuri’s face. “Hey, hello! Sorry, who are you? Did you need something?”

The only reason Yuuri doesn’t answer isn’t because there’s any disdain held towards the boy, like there had been upon his initial meeting with Viktor. It’s because, at the moment, he is absolutely tongue-tied, like any understanding of any languages of man he knew had been completely wiped from his mind. If he speaks now he doesn’t think anything but low grumbles and hisses completely unintelligible to human ears would come out. The boy searches his face but Yuuri can’t tell what he’s thinking, as much as he wishes he could.

“If you’re scared, that’s okay. We’re all friends here. Phichit! Phichit Chulanont.” He puffs out his chest and moves his hand like he wants to jab his thumb into it proudly, but nearly drops the sheets in the process.

Yuuri can’t help but snort with a laugh. Any tension between them melts away in that moment when Phichit laughs, too.

“I’m Yuuri.”

"Yuuuri,” Phichit tests it on his tongue, “Sounds a little different than that one noble boy. I wonder how he’ll feel sharing a name. That is, if you’re actually sticking around…?”

Oh, right. Yuuri clears his throat. The servant boy before him blinks with a smile. Yuuri likes him already, despite his fears, and he thinks that this is one person he’s going to feel the most guilty about lying to during his stay here. Even if Phichit is kind and welcoming now, who’s to say he won’t become the complete opposite should he learn just  _what_ Yuuri is?

“I-- yes. Th-- the prince, he’s, um…” Yuuri isn’t really sure how to explain this. It’ll probably be so strange. But he pinches his eyes shut, takes a deep breath, and explains everything as best he can without letting the truth slide. That he was found in the woods by Viktor, that Viktor had brought him here because he had nowhere else to go, that Viktor had, somehow, convinced his mother to let him take Yuuri on as an apprentice in magic (Yuuri knowing magic isn’t a complete lie, he’s a dragon after all, but he’s never used anything bt his flames) and would also teach him how to be a proper nobleman. Also, that he’s here right now because he needs a proper bedspread and a simple change of clothes and soaps sent up to the room in which he’ll be staying. Phichit listens intently, his smile reaching up to his still-sparkling eyes.

“That’s so cool! Great! Wonderful! A little weird, of course, but still!” Phichit adjusts the weight of the sheets beneath his arm, casting his glance towards a nearby doorway. “I’ll tell Miss Nishigori.” Yuuri perks up at that name, because whether he’s familiar with humans or not the sound of that name sounds so familiar to his ears, a language he hasn’t spoken in quite some time. “She’ll get someone to send things up. I’d do it myself, but I’m a little busy today.”

Yuuri nods nervously with a smile. He steps backs, fully prepared to leave.

“Oh, Yuuri, be a little careful. Prince Nikiforov, he’s very nice and all, but he has a reputation. I don’t know how true it is, but…” Phichit taps the index finger of his free hand against his chin. “You seem sweet. I don’t want your heart broken.”

That earns Phichit a puzzled stare before realization hits him. Viktor never mentioned his romance or sex life to him, because why did the people Viktor may have shared a bed with matter at all within their conversations? Yuuri’s not quite sure how to respond, but he nods slowly with a weak smile before he navigates his way back outside into a wide courtyard.

There’s an ugly feeling coiling in his chest. Bitter and thick, almost suffocating. Yuuri knows feelings of jealousy, knows them quite well, even if it were only over tiny, insignificant things like his sister being better at hunting or the foreign dragons with their wide, powerful wings. This is different, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt a jealousy so strong. It makes his cheeks burn.

Of course, Viktor is a prince, why wouldn’t he have half the kingdom ready to leap into his bed if he wanted them to? Phichit spoke to him like he was worried Yuuri would be added to that list. It’s hard for him to comprehend coupling with more than one individual, perhaps because dragons do not give themselves out as frivolously as humans seem to do. That is something he will have to get used to.

It’s irrational for him to even be a little jealous. It’s not like Viktor is his anyway. It’s not like Viktor has _ever_ been his. It’s not like he _wants_ Viktor to be his.

(That’s a lie. He knows that. For now, he can pretend it’s the truth.)

 

\---

 

Miss Nishigori turned out to be a young woman that looked quite similar to him, with big brown eyes and chestnut colored hair tied messily behind her head. She had been bubbly and energetic, having brought up a fresh bedspread (which he learned was a collection of sheets and blankets and soft lumps called ‘pillows’), a good amount of soaps and shampoos, and a few changes of clothes to the room Yuuri was staying in herself. They didn’t have much time to converse, but he learned her name was Yuuko, that she was practically in charge of most of the staff, that she was married to a blacksmith, and they had three daughters who have just turned six and had just as much energy as she did.

She had busied herself about the room, making the bed and fluffing the pillows and tidying up the small bathroom connected to the room. Then she left with a smile, and a ‘Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything!’

The room isn’t grand by any means, but it is still elegant and cozy, meant for visiting noblemen of a lower status most likely. With its red walls which match the blankets and the rug at the foot of the bed. There’s a soft chair by the window, the curtains partially opened to let the light of the now-setting sun filter in and slant across the rug and bed.

After relieving himself in the small bathroom and stepping back into the bedroom, Yuuri is very aware of the exhaustion setting in. It makes his limbs feel heavy, his eyelids just as much. It’s weird how this human body grows tired much faster than his normal one. He’s still not very used to it, either. He keeps tripping over his feet, or trying to move his ears to pick up sounds before realizing that human ears can’t really do that.

It occurs to him then that he’s never used a bed. It’s stared at incredulously. It’s only built for one person, that person being himself. His eyes narrow. Supposedly they’re comfortable. Yuuri will have to see if that’s true himself.

He doesn’t bother with removing his clothes, only because he’s not sure if he’ll be able to properly put them back on, but he _does_ remove those shoes since the feel of them has been driving him positively mad all afternoon.

Yuuri pokes at the blankets cautiously, finding them to be very soft, then rests on knee on the edge of the bed before he slides all the way in to flop down.

It feels like he’s resting on a cloud. All his worries wash away in an instant. It’s so soft against his tense, tired muscles. It accepts him easily, his weight sinking wonderfully into it. How did he managed to sleep at all before this? The feeling of soft grass or leaves did not compare to this whatsoever. Perhaps he should give humans more credit, for they were capable of inventing things as wonderful as this!

He shifts his weight around, then he lifts the blankets curiously to slip under and if he wasn’t in Heaven before he certainly is now. They’re comfortably warm and heavy around him. Yuuri pulls them over his head, curling up into a little ball, then proceeding to wiggle and roll about on the bed while the softest, most pleased sounds bubble up in his throat.

“Yuuri?”

Then in his surprise he rolls off one side of the comfortable bed to the less-than-comfortable floor with a ‘thud’ and startled yelp.

Oh, gods, Viktor is here. Yuuri hadn’t even heard the door open. Viktor is here and _definitely_ saw him making a fool of himself, then an even bigger fool when he fell off of the bed and brought the blankets with him. His own sheer embarrassment keeps him from crawling out from them, keeps him from popping his head out to look at Viktor who he knows has now crossed the room to kneel beside him. The scent he carries is familiar at least, but there’s another accompanying him that has his mouth watering.

His stomach rumbles, loud enough to be heard. Viktor doesn’t try to muffle his laugh. Then he’s poking at him through the blanket.

“Yuuuuuri, please come out,” he pleads in a sweet sing-song voice, his accent curling wonderfully around his words.

Yuuri makes an aggrieved sound.

Viktor doesn’t relent.

There’s the faint sound of something being set down atop a dresser. Then suddenly two hands are attacking him through the blankets that have Yuuri shrieking in both confusion and… well, he’s not sure _why_ it’s making him laugh, only that he’s very aware now that the flesh at his ribs is very sensitive and his body reacts by tearing loud laughter from his throat. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, then he’s squirming around to escape.

Viktor uses the distraction to his advantage and pulls the blanket from over Yuuri’s head to get a glimpse of his tousled hair, red cheeks, and annoyed stare. But Yuuri can’t let himself be annoyed too much longer, not when Viktor’s eyes are so soft and his mouth is set into a wonderful smile and he’s just as beautiful and handsome as ever.

Phichit’s warning flickers through his head again. Yuuri shoves it aside for now. This is fine, Yuuri can accept this gentle friendship. He doesn’t ask for anything more. That’d be selfish of him. Besides, certainly Viktor has some lovely _human_ he’d prefer to make the object of his affections. Their relationship now is dangerous enough. That ugly feeling begins to rise in his chest again. He does his best to suppress it.

After Viktor helps him with untangling himself from the blankets, after Viktor helps him set them back over the mattress properly, he turns to Yuuri with that same soft expression he always gives him.

“I brought food. I hope it isn’t too cold by now. Here, sit.”

Yuuri sits at the chair by the window without question. Viktor places a tray in his lap. _That’s_ where that unfamiliar smell that made his mouth water came from. It’s a little familiar, how Viktor still brings him a meal even here, where he could simply have servants do it for him. Yuuri picks at the meat with his fingers first before Viktor stops him, then kneels before him.

“Eating with your hands isn’t going to go over well in a room full of gentlemen and women. Certainly not with nobles. Use this.” Then Viktor is pressing a shiny, metal utensil into his hand.

Yuuri doesn’t hesitate. Even if he holds the ‘fork’ awkwardly he still dives into the food happily, satiating his hungry belly. Even human food is different, full of so many strange flavors Yuuri never thought one could combine. Everything about this is amazing, incredible, and though he’s still aware this is a risky situation and he’s still terrified of the fact he is _surrounded_ by humans who despised his kind, he can allow himself to enjoy these things.

Later, after Yuuri’s finished off a cup of tea and helped himself to a glass of water and the sun outside has nearly set, Viktor is nursing his third glass of wine. There’s a happy flush to his cheeks, his shirt’s been unbuttoned near the collar, and while he’s not drunk yet he’s certainly much more relaxed. He’s moving around the room in what looks like a graceful dance, laughing and telling some story from his childhood of skating along the surface of a frozen lake with his older cousin close behind to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. Yuuri sits quietly, watching him with a smile, enjoying the sound of his voice and his laugh and he has to stop himself from thinking those tender glances thrown his way mean something more.

“Yuuri,” Viktor is suddenly in front of him again. That wine glass is being pushed into his hands. The wine smells strange, rich with a hint of both spice and sweetness. What does Viktor want him to do? Drink it? The prince is watching him expectantly. Yuuri peers up at him, then back down to the plum-colored liquid.

Then he brings the cool edge of the glass to his lips. When the liquid hits his tongue his nose screws up immediately and he’s withdrawing quickly. It’s weird, it makes his tongue tingle, the taste is almost overwhelming. Viktor takes the glass from his hands without spilling a single drop while laughing even more. It’s such a wonderful, musical sound that he can’t be annoyed that he’s being laughed at.

“See, Yuuri, what you’re supposed to do,” Viktor lifts his glass, “is sip it _slowly._ Inhale the scent. Then when you have it in your mouth you let the flavors set in. _Savor_ it. _Then_ you swallow.”

But Viktor does none of that as he takes another large swig without even flinching. “Or, that’s what _sophisticated gentlemen_ are supposed to do. I say, if you’re drinking, there’s no need to be so stuffy about it.”

The rest of that glass is finished off. Viktor continues with his story, and when it comes to a finish he is kneeling before him again with both his hands held gently. Yuuri thinks the color pink looks nice on his pale cheeks, warm and full of life. The look Viktor is giving him makes his heart ache. It’s so gentle and sweet and warm and Yuuri could get lost in the depth of his so very blue eyes for hours.

“Yuuri…”

“Yes?”

Viktor opens his mouth but hesitates. Whatever he had been planning to say, whatever he had wanted to say, is replaced with a, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Yuuri searches his face, then he lets himself smile.

“Me, too.”

Relief flashes over Viktor’s face. He lets Yuuri move one hand to his cheek, fingertips dancing over the skin warmed by alcohol. His palm smooths out over it and Viktor leans his head into the touch.

_Allow yourself this._

Then Viktor is rising slowly while Yuuri remains where he sits. There’s an odd look in his eyes. Yuuri’s hand drops back to his lap, but Viktor’s hand finds his cheek instead. A soft caress against his skin. Feeling Viktor’s hands against his human skin is so much different than feeling them against fur and tough dragon flesh.

He likes this much better.

“You’re tired,” Viktor murmurs, a statement rather than a question. Yuuri hums. He’d figured it was obvious with how he sagged into the chair, how he was struggling now to keep his eyes open. He would have slept long ago had Viktor not arrived with food and water and alcohol, had Viktor not kept him company with silly songs and dances and stories that Yuuri still didn’t really understand the meaning of but was sure he soon would.

“Let’s get you to bed, then.” He makes like he’s going to lift Yuuri up but Yuuri stops him quickly, pushing himself up and padding toward the bed. Then he pauses at the edge, glancing at Viktor then down at himself.

“Should I take them off?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My clothes,” Yuuri clarifies while fumbling with one of the shirt buttons. Viktor stares, then coughs into his fist.

“Yes, ah, that would be good. I’ll take my leave then.”

Yuuri moves so fast and sudden it surprises even himself. He’s grabbing Viktor’s sleeve and Viktor is staring at him with wide eyes. Then when Yuuri relaxes, so does he. Whatever ounce of courage Yuuri had that kept him going through the day suddenly escapes him. It’s impossible to meet Viktor’s gaze now. His fingers, still curled tight into the soft fabric of Viktor’s shirt, are trembling.

“Stay, please,” he says quietly. Yuuri then turns his face up. There’s a pleading look in his eyes. He doesn’t want to be alone, not right now. “At least until I fall asleep.”

Viktor’s expression is unreadable. Yuuri can’t place an emotion on it. Shocked, maybe? Confused? Regardless, he’s prying Yuuri’s grip off of his sleeve and Yuuri’s almost scared he’s going to leave until warm hands take hold of his arms.

“Yuuri?” His voice is soft. “Are you alright?”

Then there’s tears, hot and strange, because he’s never cried like a human could before. It’s not like he’s sobbing, he’s just sniffling and hiccuping.

“I’m scared, that’s it. So please stay.”

When he’s pulled in for a hug he doesn’t try to fight it. Viktor holding him tight, one hand cradling the back of his head. His body is warm and solid, something to ground Yuuri as he snivels and whimpers into his shoulder. Viktor shushes him softly in an attempt to soothe, but pressed against him Yuuri can feel how his heart beats rapidly. Maybe Viktor is as scared as he is. They both know the situation they’ve gotten themselves into. It could end in disaster, with at least one of them dead. Things could go horribly wrong. Yuuri wonders if this is the right decision.

When he finishes crying, his cheeks hot and feeling strangely sticky from dried tears, he pulls away, but Viktor keeps his hands on his arms.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” he says. “Now, get undressed and get under the blankets. Tell me when you are.”

Yuuri nods. Viktor lets him go, then turns around to instead focus on the wall. Clumsily, Yuuri unbuttons the shirt and tosses it aside. Then he fumbles with the belt, then wiggles out of the trousers and finds it’s easier to do so when he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He keeps the smallclothes on for now.

But he takes a moment to trace over the raised scars against his side. A blasted bear almost got the best of him, unbelievable! And proof of the fight had to carry over to this form as well. It just makes him feel even uglier. Yuuri grimaces. He glances back to Viktor, who is rocking forward on the balls of his feet, then sighs.

At least the bed is still comfortable. The blanket is still warm as he drags it over himself.

“Okay,” he murmurs. Viktor turns around. The dingy lamp at the side of the bed is shut off, leaving the room cloaked in darkness save for a single candle that casts enough light to let him see Viktor’s soft, smiling face.

_You’re so beautiful._

The bed sinks under Viktor’s weight as he sits at the edge. Yuuri peers at him, but darkness mixed with exhaustion mixed with his strangely weak eyesight in this form makes it difficult to watch him too long. He stretches out beneath the blanket that Viktor tucks further around his shoulders, up to his chin. Eyes flutter shut and with Viktor there, he finds it easier to let his breath even out.

“Good night, Viktor.”

“Good night, Yuuri.”

Yuuri, as he begins to slip off, is vaguely aware of Viktor humming. A soft, almost melancholy tune.

He falls asleep with it drifting through his dreams.

 

\---

 

In the morning he’ll find the candle had been blown out, his discarded clothes folded on the chair, the curtains opened wider. In the morning, he’ll still have that song in his mind, and he’ll hope it hadn’t been his imagination when he felt the press of lips to his temple just before he had allowed himself to succumb entirely to slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to give a better understanding of yuuri's journey here, he was captured in late december. he escaped at the beginning of march. he had been fleeing for about three weeks before meeting viktor in late march. currently it's almost july.
> 
> EDIT: i meant to provide references for what i imagined the armor viktor's mother is wearing is like! something a bit like this: [1](http://i.imgur.com/LkDJZF5.jpg), [2](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/C-GsZKvXUAAEK7t.jpg), [3](http://www.ffxivinfo.com/images/disciplines/dragoon.png). not as many pointy bits of course, and no exposed skin.
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> as usual, my twitter is [here](http://twitter.com/yuurigif)! i'll post about updates there! you can ask me questions or just talk to me!  
> my tumblr is [here](http://yuuriofficial.tumblr.com), if you would prefer to ask questions anonymously.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is, in fact, losing his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting from this chapter onward the POV will alternate between viktor and yuuri throughout the chapter, unlike one chapter focusing on just viktor's and another on just yuuri, so on and so forth.

“He’s weird,” Yura says as he falls in step beside Viktor. The garden around them glows golden beneath the midday sun, the day already hot with the promise to get hotter as it went on and no sweet summer breeze giving them any sort of relief. He’s had to strip down to his waistcoat and roll his sleeves up to his elbows, the hair at his nape already damp. Yura seems absolutely unfazed, all of his attention on the young man across the garden who is inspecting each flower closely, his eyes squinting up behind his newly-acquired glasses.

(He had thrown off and broken the first pair the moment they were on his face, confused and surprised by how they altered his vision. When he was gifted a replacement, he adjusted to it quickly after the initial discomfort.)

“Why do you say that?” Viktor hums, stopping at a stone bench where he settles down comfortably to watch Yuuri explore, Makkachin at his heels and snuffling at the ground with his fluffy tail wagging. The dog’s taken a quick liking to Yuuri and the feeling looks to be mutual, to Viktor’s relief.

Yura doesn’t bother sitting. Instead, he continues to scrutinize Yuuri from afar. His nose crinkles and mouth twists as though he’s smelled something rather foul.

“It’s like he doesn’t…” There’s a small pause as though Yura’s trying to figure out how to word this. Which is… odd, because usually he just says whatever comes to mind no matter how rude or vulgar it may be. _Once he had been so much more considerate._ “Like he doesn’t know how to be a person.”

The laugh that Viktor lets out, loud and bright, startles Yura and causes Yuuri to stop what he’s doing to look over his shoulder at the pair. Makkachin lifts his head too, tongue lolling from his mouth. Yuuri blinks slowly and when Viktor smiles at him he smiles a smile so sweet and warm right back at him. Those sparkling brown eyes look away from him again as Yuuri crouches in front of a peony bush.

 _Like he doesn’t know how to be a person._ Yura hit the nail right on the head, but that’s not really something that Viktor can tell him. The one explanation he can come up with is ‘Yuuri is from another country’, which isn’t a total lie. He just leaves out the bit that he’s not human. It’s only been three weeks since Yuuri was brought to the palace, since he’s begun his life as a human, since Viktor’s begun teaching him how to present himself. Of course, since he made a promise to his mother to tutor Yuuri in magic, they have days set up where they spend two hours on the sparring grounds. It isn’t like Viktor doesn’t want to, and Yuuri doesn’t seem to hate it either. In fact, it seems like he enjoys it greatly. To see him so happy and comfortable is all Viktor can really ask for.

“I’m sure he’ll grow on you.”

All Yura does in response is snort.

“I don’t get why you brought him here in the first place,” he mutters, looking upward rather than at Viktor or Yuuri. He squints his eyes from the light of the July sun. His hands slide into the pockets of his trousers, then he kicks the ground. “It’s not like he has anything to offer.”

Now, Viktor is a patient man, it isn’t easy to make him snap. He’s used to Yura’s sharp tongue, he’s used to Yura’s temper. The boy is only fifteen, he’s still growing and learning, he’s bound to be insensitive. Viktor remembers when he was sixteen, when he met this small and pudgy four year old who stuck close to his grandfather while his father and mother attended to business within the palace.

Yuri Plisetsky had stared at Viktor from behind his grandfather’s legs like he was the most incredible thing in the world, all wide eyes and messy golden hair like a halo around his head and childish innocence written across his face still round with baby fat. He was like a little angel, sweet and gentle, whose edges sharpened as he grew older. There were many things that shaped him into the boy he is now, harsh and temperamental and impulsive with an aching loneliness buried beneath. Viktor understands loneliness, how it eats you up inside until you feel cold and lifeless. He feels sympathy for Yura sometimes.

Now is not one of those times.

“Yura, sometimes it is better to keep comments to yourself,” Viktor says lightly. The boy casts him a sidelong glance. There’s a glint of confusion in his eye, quickly replaced by something smug, like he’s proud of himself for successfully pushing Viktor’s buttons. He doesn’t respond, he just turns his back to Viktor to continue watching Yuuri who has moved to a hedge full of honeysuckle and is leaning in close to sniff at the fragrant flowers. It’s endearing, his curiosity. He still seems nervous, fearful even, of everything in his new life, but he continues pushing through. It’s admirable. It makes warmth bloom in Viktor’s chest. He doesn’t even realize how his smile is widening.

Yura mutters something, then turns back to Viktor. “I need to go. Madame Baranovskaya will kill me if I’m late to class again. Don’t waste too much time making moony eyes at him.”

“No promises,” he hums. “Good luck.”

When Yura is gone, Viktor stands to make his way across the garden where Yuuri still inspects the honeysuckle. The dog licks at his hand in greeting, earning himself a good scratch behind the ears. Even when Viktor is right there he doesn’t say a word, fingers reaching up to tug at the stem of one of the bundles of sweet flowers.

Only a week ago Viktor had given him a small book to help him identify most of the flora found across the region, a good amount grown in the gardens on the palace grounds. The only problem with that is it was not in the common tongue, and even if it were Yuuri is still not able to read. In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the best gift, but he’s slowly but surely teaching Yuuri the Seskian language, along with teaching him how to read from any of the books found in the palace’s grand library written in common. Yuuri is a fast learner. Stubborn, determined, and when he’s made up his mind it’s difficult to get him to budge. When he sets a goal for himself it’s impossible for him to give up. There were many things Viktor has begun teaching Yuuri. Not just the magic he had promised to his mother.

“These smell nicer than everything else,” Yuuri finally states.

“They’re honeysuckle. Their name is very fitting,” Viktor says, reaching up to one of the little white flowers.

“Why?”

“The nectar is edible, you see. As a child I liked picking them just for that. Of course, the gardeners weren’t too happy with me.” That doesn’t stop him now from plucking a flower carefully. Yuuri watches him as he pinches the flower, then tugs at the tiny green bud at the base to expose the white style slowly. He looks almost fascinated, his head tilting when the clear nectar pools at the end of the flower. There’s a hint of pink on his cheeks, Viktor can’t tell if it’s a blush or if it’s just the beginnings of sunburn.

Viktor brings it to his lips to lick the nectar off. It’s been awhile since he’s done so, mostly out of respect for the gardeners as well as the flowers, but he finds no harm in plucking one or two flowers out of many. It also reminds him why his seven-year-old self indulged in plenty of these when he wandered the gardens by himself. He was forced to stop eventually, and had found better treats anyway when the cooks and bakers within the palace kitchens would sneak him sweet rolls and chocolate.

“Do you want to try?” Another flower is plucked and offered to Yuuri, who eyes it suspiciously. It takes him a moment to make up his mind and reach up to take the flower from Viktor’s fingers.

He mimics what he had watched Viktor do, slowly and cautiously pulling the style out from the flower until the nectar pooled at the little opening at the base. Then he brings it to his lips to lick at it. Viktor doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way Yuuri’s eyes widen as the sweetness sets in, how he swipes his tongue over his lips to pick up any remaining residue, how he brings the flower right up to his face to stare at it in surprise then turn his gaze up to Viktor with his lips parted. Excited as can be.

“Just that one, Yuuri. I don’t think the gardeners will be as forgiving with you as they are with me.” The two flowers are dropped to the path, ground into the dirt with the heel of Viktor’s boot. Makkachin looks tempted to eat them when he bows his head to sniff at them, but instead pulls back and pads off to find something else of interest. Viktor’s hand lands on Yuuri’s shoulder. He nudges him, eyes flickering to the path that led to the exit of the gardens. Yuuri seems a bit hesitant to leave, and Viktor is sure he’ll remain firmly rooted in place and refuse.

Surprisingly, he comes along with just a single dirty look thrown Viktor’s way. It makes him snicker.

They walk mostly in silence, but any feeling of awkwardness is absent. Makkachin bounds ahead, barking excitedly, to chase after a rooster that had wandered too far from the stables and disappears from sight. Yuuri sticks close to Viktor’s side, like he usually does, still nervous about straying too far. That’s something Viktor can’t fault him for, thrown into such a frightening new situation. He’s not going to adjust completely in only three weeks, but he’s certainly making progress. More and more often he’s begun to venture out without Viktor, the prince knows he’s even found some companionship with some of the servants. That Phichit Chulanont boy, for instance. He’s seen them chattering away in corridors. And he’s aware that Yuuri’s snuck away three times now to join the servants for their supper, most likely at the request of Chulanont.

Viktor might speak with Miss Nishigori about having Chulanont be a valet of sorts for Yuuri, just so the two could see one another more often. Anything for Yuuri to smile and laugh and find comfort in a new world.

He may be a little jealous, though, only because for three months he was the only one caring for Yuuri, the one friend that Yuuri had. Of course, he doesn’t think Yuuri isn’t allowed to talk to anyone else, it’s just that… he’s not _used_ to it. He’s not used to not being the only one that Yuuri relies on for comfort and happiness now, but he isn’t angry; quite the contrary, actually. Viktor is pleased, enough that he can wipe away that tiny speck of irrational jealousy. If Yuuri is happy, that is enough for him.

Still…

“Viktor?”

Yuuri’s voice and a finger in his side snap him back to reality. He blinks three times, comes to a full stop, then looks down at the dragon staring up at him with a questioning look. That unruly head of black curls has long since been trimmed into something shorter and neater, no longer hanging before his eyes like they did before. Viktor can clearly see how they still shimmer behind his glasses.

“You were thinking again,” he chides almost playfully, pulling his hand away to tug at the collar of his blouse with his index finger. The baby blue color compliments him nicely, Viktor notes.

“I was only daydreaming. Maybe you should try it, take a break from being a perpetual worrier.”

That earns him an amused huff. Viktor grins a half-grin. He likes making Yuuri laugh.

Their shoulders bump together lightly. “There’s too much in the world to worry about and very little time to daydream,” Yuuri says as he pushes his glasses which were sliding down the bridge of his nose back up. Viktor slings an arm about his shoulders and Yuuri tenses briefly before he lets himself relax.

“It’s never bad to indulge in a sweet state of reverie every now and then. You’ll sprout gray hairs too soon if you worry so much all the time, Yuuuuri.”

“Oh? Is that what happened with you?” There’s a little tug on a lock of Viktor’s short hair.

The prince gasps, feigning offense, then whines as he begins to put all his weight against Yuuri’s side, his cheek on top of his head.

“Yuuuuuri! That was so mean! You’re going to break my heart.” For good measure, he clutches his chest with his free hand. Theatrics have always been one of his strong suits. “In fact, I think you already have.”

“Vik _tor!”_ Yuuri is trying to protest, but can’t speak much through his fit of giggles. He’s having a hard time keeping his balance and remaining upright with all of Viktor’s weight on him. Viktor moves his hand from his chest to press his knuckles to his forehead. He heaves a melodramatic sigh.

“I don’t think I can recover from this.”

It seems he may have underestimated Yuuri’s strength because suddenly the dragon’s knees are buckling and they’re both sent toppling onto the ground. In the split second they have before impact, Viktor adjusts his arm enough that it’ll cushion Yuuri’s head before it can slam against the ground.

They’re left lying there for what feels like ages with Viktor’s head tucked close to Yuuri’s shoulder, before Yuuri coughs.

“Please, move,” he wheezes, and Viktor realizes he’s practically been crushing Yuuri beneath him. Viktor’s drawing back within moments, still sitting on Yuuri’s hips.

“Sorry, sorry,” but he doesn’t sound very sorry. There’s laughter in his voice. Yuuri scowls at him as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. His glasses are lopsided on his face but he makes no effort to fix them just yet, maybe because he’s too busy studying Viktor who still is practically sitting right in his lap. He looks like he wants to say something but decides against it, instead poking Viktor’s belly. It’s barely felt through the fabric of his waistcoat and dress shirt, but the prince giggles nonetheless.

Palms meet the grass as Viktor leans forward, straddling Yuuri’s hips, uncaring of who may see them in what is a rather… compromising position. They will get the wrong idea surely, but Viktor is already used to rumors flying around about him. Yuuri stares wide-eyed, mouth opening but nothing coming out. He remains rigid when Viktor lifts a hand to brush his fingertips over his cheek, something swimming in his brown eyes that Viktor can’t really recognize. Slowly, he leans in closer, Yuuri remaining frozen in place and Viktor doesn’t think he’s seen his eyes go so big. Up close, Viktor can see the little details of them. The ring of gold around his pupils, the bronze flecks sprinkled in his irises, the thick lashes framing them.

_God, he’s so beautiful._

Then he takes one temple of his glasses still lopsided on his face and fixes it over his ear, setting them straight, then he’s drawing back and rising to his feet before Yuuri can react. Viktor brushes the knees of his trousers free of dirt while Yuuri remains sitting there blinking in confusion, brows furrowed and cheeks pink. He stares at Viktor’s hand when he extends it to help him up, evidently still trying to process everything, before he takes his hand to haul himself to his feet and brush the dirt off of his rear.

“It’s hot,” Yuuri mutters before Viktor can say a thing, glaring up at the vibrant blue summer sky and squinting at the sun as if it were the most horrible thing in the world. “I used to be able to handle heat very well, you know. This body can’t do a lot of things that my other can.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, it doesn’t get much hotter than this.” Viktor pokes at one of the patches of pale red on Yuuri’s cheekbone. Yuuri flinches. A grimace makes his lips curl and his hands fly up to his cheek. “Unfortunately, it appears you’re getting sunburn. Let’s get you inside before it gets any worse.”

Yuuri peers at him, then just nods. There’s still confusion in his eyes, mixed with what looks like suspicion and contemplation. It’s not an unfamiliar look from him, so Viktor thinks nothing of it and guides him back to the western entrance into the palace.

 

\---

 

“We should go out soon,” Viktor states casually from where he sits in a high-backed chair near the center of his private library, his elbow propped up on the arm and his cheek resting on his knuckles. Yuuri either doesn’t hear him or is ignoring him, focused on his attempts to ignite a spark of a blue flame on a piece of old, worn parchment. It’s not working out very well, the flames appear as the usual oranges and reds and golds. If Yuuri were to relax a bit, maybe he’d progress faster than he currently is. A smile curls at his lips.

“You know, it isn’t polite to ignore your teacher.”

“I’m busy,” Yuuri shoots back without even sparing him a glance.

His stubborn attitude has only gotten worse since he’s arrived and he seems dead-set on ignoring any of Viktor’s orders and doing things his own way at his own pace.

It reminds him of someone. It reminds him of himself, actually. Yakov probably began balding solely because of Viktor’s carefree, excitable, and rebellious nature. Hopefully, Yuuri doesn’t do the same thing to Viktor.

He also figures Yuuri’s growing more and more irritable considering he hasn’t been able to shift into his true appearance since he’s arrived here. That’s why he tries again, “If we go out, you can take some time to relax and stretch your limbs.” Viktor words it in a way where it would sound quite innocuous to any potential eavesdroppers. Yuuri obviously understands the meaning behind it, with how he abandons his practice quickly and snaps his gaze towards Viktor.

“You could’ve just said that to begin with,” the dragon huffs.

“It wasn’t obvious?” Viktor pushes himself up from the chair. Yuuri kneels down to collect a heavy tome, along with a small notebook, a bottle of ink, and quill. He’s been practicing his writing as well, starting with the common alphabet and moving onto the Seskian one. There’s quite a large difference between the two, and not just in writing. Viktor can’t really imagine Yuuri’s light voice speaking in the rapid-fire, rough, and deep tones of his native tongue.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out you need to stop being so vague with me,” Yuuri sighs, but he gives Viktor a smile that makes his heart flutter. “Where are we going? And when?”

“I’ll have to work around the schedule. It will most likely be a week from now. Will you be able to wait that long?”

Yuuri shifts from one foot to the other. “I can try.”

For a moment, Viktor studies him. Where _will_ they go? He has a few ideas. It will have to be somewhere a good distance from the city, where it will be difficult for anyone to come across them. There are a few places he can think of, but he’s not sure how many of them Yuuri would be particularly fond of. It doesn’t hurt to toss out a few ideas.

“The hills are easy enough to get to. A lot of room and freedom to run about. Not much in the way of shelter from the summer sun though,” Viktor muses as Yuuri sets his belongings on the top of a small table. The dragon tilts his head towards Viktor to show he’s listening to him. Viktor’s lips twitch. Yuuri is always quiet, but even if he is not speaking he communicates in other ways. It’s just a matter of watching him closely.

“Not much in the way of hiding if someone were to pass through,” Yuuri replies as he sits in the chair opposite of Viktor and pulls the notebook into his lap, flipping it open to a blank page. The cap is twisted off of the bottle of ink and he dips the quill into it, then begins practicing the common alphabet with clumsy penmanship. His brows furrow in concentration, his grip on the quill dangerously tight. Despite that, he still manages to carry on speaking, “They would spot me before we even noticed them.”

He’s right. Viktor pouts anyway. “What’s life without a little risk?”

“ _You_ may get away with little more than a slap on your wrist, compared to me being killed,” Yuuri smiles wryly, speaks of this so casually that it’s almost unnerving. Viktor was only jesting, he’s half sure Yuuri was as well, but he’s taken aback all the same. For once, he doesn’t know how to respond.

So he doesn’t, instead offering another suggestion.

“If you’re interested in a more educational trip, there are ancient ruins a few miles out. No more than an hour away.”

Yuuri scrunches his nose up. Viktor’s unsure if it’s in response to the suggestion or because he’s having some trouble writing out some of the words Viktor taught him the other day. “Another time. Besides, I’m not sure that’s the best place to take a few hours to relax.”

Viktor makes a mental note, one he hopes his shoddy memory will actually hold onto. _Another time._ He knows Yuuri can be a bit difficult to please, but it doesn’t make it any less grating on the nerves sometimes.

They fall into silence for some time, the only sound being the scratch of Yuuri’s quill against the parchment of his notebook. Viktor quietly admires him, taking in how his hair falls into his face as he hunches over the notebook, and how he’ll occasionally reach up to adjust his glasses which slowly slide down the bridge of his nose. There’s still a hint of red on his cheekbones from mild sunburn, and Viktor notices it on his nose as well.

“Have you ever been to a beach?” He asks suddenly, breaking the silence. Yuuri pauses, looking up. Viktor thinks he already knows the answer. Depending on where Yuuri had lived, it may not have been the safest idea to visit the oceanside. He never asked Yuuri if the fondness his breed had for the rains and rivers and seas he had heard from travelers was true. Maybe he should have. Assuming doesn’t really do him any good. Still, he continues, “The ocean is quite lovely this time of year. I’m sure you will enjoy it.”

When it’s still warm, when the sun still makes his pale shoulders freckle and the wind caresses his cheeks. Viktor smiles, mostly to himself.

It fades quickly because something in Yuuri’s expression changes. There’s a distant, unfocused look in his eyes. Like he’s looking at something that isn’t there. His gaze reminds him of the one he’s seen on so many soldiers who had seen too much death and grief so young. It’s unnerving as much as it is concerning. Viktor’s unsure of what to do and how to handle this, but he knows he has to do _something._ Gods, he’s never been good at this. He drums his fingers on the armrest, then rises to his feet.

“Yuuri?” He says slowly. “Are you alright?”

There’s no response. Viktor takes careful steps forward. Yuuri doesn’t even respond to his presence, it’s like he’s not even there. Rocking on his heels awkwardly, Viktor looks around the library then leans forward. He snaps his fingers in front of Yuuri’s face. Once, twice, then on the third Yuuri’s jolting and blinking, dropping his quill and splattering ink. Speaking of ink, with his sudden movement the bottle tips over and ruins the pages and splashes over Yuuri’s trousers and Viktor’s waistcoat, spilling onto the rug.

The dragon inhales sharply. He blanches, runs both hands through his dark hair, the same shade of black as the ink now staining his hands. He doesn’t even look at Viktor, who takes notice of his unsteady breathing.

“Yuuri, what’s--”

“S-sorry,” Yuuri cuts him off, refusing to meet his gaze. “Um, let’s-- this conversation-- um. Later. Yes. Sorry. Bye.”

Before Viktor can say a word or ask for clarification Yuuri’s on his feet and scrambling out of the room, kicking up the rugs beneath his feet then slamming the large doors behind him. Viktor stares down at the ink ruined notebook that has fallen to the floor, the now-empty bottle, and the quill lying daintily nearby. Then he glances at the doors. Should he follow him? Or should he give him space? Does Yuuri need someone to talk to? Viktor’s not really the top contender for that, he thinks he’ll only make it worse.

Maybe it’s better to just wait, even if he _hates_ waiting.

 

\---

 

It’s stupid, so terribly pathetic, Yuuri thinks to himself as the doors slam shut behind him. Stupid and terribly pathetic that the mere mention of the ocean is sending him spiraling into panic. He doesn’t linger for long, instead ripping down the corridor and startling a few servants when he passes. One of them calls after him, asking if he’s alright, but it sounds too distant and he can’t find his voice to respond, or the will to stop until he’s somewhere where no one can see him. Would his room work? He doesn’t know. That might be the first place someone would check to see if he’s alright. He wants to be alone. His head hurts. He can’t breathe.

 

_The smell of salt is almost too strong. Coupled by the rocking of the ship, it stirs up nausea within his belly. He’s learned by now that if he vomits, he’ll be punished for it. He might be forced to sit in it until they reach land. Yuuri swallows back the bile in his throat, curling in on himself tighter and hiding his face beneath the flare of fur at the tip of his tail. All the days have blurred together, he doesn’t know how long it’s been. There’s another dragon in a cage a few feet away. One with pink fur and red plumage. She doesn’t look at him, but she’s beautiful. They never speak._

_Yuuri doesn’t know where they are. Out in the middle of the ocean, yes, and very far from his home. But he doesn’t know_ where. _It all looks the same to him. A vast expanse of blue glimmering beneath the winter sun. It’s cold. The humans that wander the deck are bundled up in thick furs to protect them from the winds. Yuuri is forced to bear it._

_He lifts his head again, enough that from the cage he can peer over the edge of the ship, out across the water again. There’s no sign of land for miles. Just the cold, unforgiving, never-ending ocean stretching far beyond the horizon._

_“--ri? Yuuri?” His name, distant, muffled. Barely there. The voice is familiar. A figment of his imagination._

 

“Yuuri!”

Or not.

Yuuri’s eyes snap open. He’s disoriented, exhausted. Somehow he _did_ make it back to his room, because he’s curled up in the tub of his bathroom with his arms over his head. His glasses are almost sliding off his nose. His skin feels gross and sticky with sweat. Tongue swipes out over his very dry lips. This is reality, he’s safe. Over and over in his head, he tells himself that. No cages, no ships, just this bathroom and tub and Phichit standing at the side of the tub with frantic worry clear in his eyes.

When Yuuri begins to lower his arms Phichit breathes a sigh of relief. He regards him with kind eyes still full of concern, waiting patiently for Yuuri to say or do something. Yuuri wonders to himself, how many humans are as kind as Phichit? He knows Miss Nishigori and many of the other servants are warm and welcoming. Viktor even more so. Were not all of them out for the blood of his kind? Were not all of them like the men that ripped him from his home and from his family, starved him, abused him? How many of them would suddenly change if they were to figure out Yuuri’s secret?

He starts sniffling.

“How long have I been here?” Yuuri croaks out, pulling his glasses off and wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands while Phichit pulls the wooden stool to the side of the tub from beneath the basin and sits. Yuuri notices the ink, still wet on his fingers and how it smears over his face. Did he spill it in his haste to leave? He doesn’t remember. It’s on his clothes, too. Tears sting at the corners of his eyes but he continues rubbing them away stubbornly, not caring about the possibility of ink getting in his eyes until he feels Phichit take his hands into his own gently. They’re pulled away from his face. Now he has no choice but to let the tears trickle down his cheeks. Phichit’s thumbs rub over his knuckles.

“An hour, maybe? A few people saw you running from lessons with His Highness. Did he do something, Yuuri?” There’s an edge of protectiveness in Phichit’s voice. Yuuri blinks a few times. Did Viktor do something? No. At least, Yuuri doesn’t think he did. He just asked a question and said question happened to set off some not-so-pleasant memories.

He shakes his head. “No. We were--” What were they doing again? Yuuri lapses into silence briefly and Phichit tenses. Then, “He wanted to take me out soon and… explore?” That’s the best he can come up with for why they’d be going out together, _alone._ As clueless as Yuuri can be, he’s not oblivious to the fact that humans _love_ to talk. Rumors are abundant within nobility. It would only be another to add to the growing pile. “He didn’t do anything.”

If Phichit had any doubts he’s doing well to hide them. For now, he looks relieved. He squeezes Yuuri’s hands. “Good. Speaking of which, he kept pacing outside of your room. I managed to chase him off.”

Yuuri laughs weakly. Maybe not speaking to Viktor would be for the best. And to think, earlier that day they were laughing and smiling out in the gardens, but now Yuuri’s hiding in a tub in tears because he couldn’t handle such a simple question. It isn’t Viktor’s fault, he didn’t know. How could he? Yuuri hasn’t told him anything.

Carefully, he uncurls and sits up straighter. His head is still pounding. His hair is a mess and he probably looks as miserable as he feels. Phichit, bless his heart, doesn’t judge him for it. It’s only been a few weeks, but he’s grown attached to the young man already. He’s easy to talk to, he’s funny, he’s friendly, and he _listens._

“Let me run a bath for you. Is that okay?” Phichit is leaning over the edge of the tub, releasing Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri nibbles at his bottom lip.

“Yes. Okay.”

He rises to his feet and Phichit helps him out onto the floor. While he quickly scrubs the ink off his hands in the basin then undresses, Phichit is turning the multiple valves in the tub to let water pour inside. He adds a few strange fragrant oils to the water, giving the water a pleasant smell of vanilla and tinting it pink. Then Phichit turns the valves again, shutting off the water and leaving the tub almost filled to the brim. Steam rises from the water, bringing with it the soothing scent of the oils.

The warmth flowing from the water calls to his aching, tired muscles. Phichit turns to him and blinks, looking over him a few times. For a moment Yuuri is worried he’s going to ask about the scars. His hand moves up to them quickly.

“You’re like me.” Phichit stands up straight. Yuuri blinks at him in confusion.

Yuuri furrows his brows. Like Phichit? What does that mean? He glances down at his bare body, and he’s still growing used to how very human it is. Then he looks back up at Phichit.

“I don’t understand?” Yuuri lets Phichit help him into the tub and immediately he almost melts as he sinks into the warmth of the water. It reminds him of home; the spring there, where all the different dragons would come by, where he and his family lived happily. The memory is chased away when Phichit laughs as he plops back down onto the stool and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. He proceeds to undo the little tangles in Yuuri’s hair with his fingers. The dragon hums.

“You--” Phichit pauses to consider his words. He begins scrubbing shaved soap into Yuuri’s hair. “Your body. You know.” One hand is pulled back and Phichit gestures at his chest down to his groin then nods at Yuuri.

Yuuri takes a moment to think about it. Nothing is coming to mind. His body? Phichit certainly isn’t a dragon in the skin of a human, so what…

_Oh._

“Oh, right,” he peers down at his body, somewhat distorted beneath the rippling, bubbly surface of the water. Truthfully, he’s not sure how to respond. He’s a little surprised, not in a bad way. It’s not like he expected to meet someone like him, he actually had no clue that any humans were like him in that regard.

Finally, he smiles. “You didn’t tell me before.”

“Neither did you,” Phichit snickers.

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“Well, neither did I!” He dumps water over Yuuri’s head and Yuuri gives a squawk of surprise, which quickly melts into a laugh.

The next twenty minutes are spent with them chatting idly, Yuuri’s episode forgotten for now. Phichit finishes washing his hair, then moves on to washing his shoulders and back while Yuuri works on the front. Then he’s leaving the bathroom for a few minutes, saying he’ll ‘be right back’. Yuuri nods then sinks deeper into the water until it’s up to his nose. It’s relaxing, but Yuuri knows once he steps out then the steadily mounting anxiety since he’s arrived at the palace will crawl into his mind again. He hates not being able to change just yet. It’s something he’s going to have to get used to, staying in this form for prolonged periods of time. Viktor had offered a chance to go out somewhere that Yuuri could relax as he truly is, but…

Of course, he’ll have to speak with Viktor again soon. He’ll have to give Viktor an answer. The beach? Maybe not. At least, not now. He hopes this isn’t inconvenient. Viktor is busy, he’s a _prince,_ and Yuuri feels more like a burden than anything. Why Viktor felt like he had to give him a new home and teach him and protect him is beyond Yuuri, he doesn’t understand, he still has a small fear Viktor’s doing it out of pity.

Phichit returns with a change of clothes. He helps Yuuri out of the bath and offers him a towel, which he accepts gratefully and uses to dry himself. Then he dresses, the simple dress shirt pleasantly soft against his skin. Out in the bedroom, Phichit runs a brush through Yuuri’s hair a few times, then sets his glasses over his nose.

“What’d he say that had you so upset?” He asks gently. Yuuri sighs while shaking his head.

“It’s not really his fault, and I’d rather not talk about it,” he responds quietly. Phichit pauses before he gives a hum of understanding. Yuuri’s grateful he doesn’t push.

They end up leaving Yuuri’s room shortly after (after Phichit struggled to convince Yuuri to put shoes on, he still hates the feeling of them). Phichit guides him through the corridors, doing his best to take the ones less used for Yuuri’s sake. To give his friend some air, to keep anyone, especially a rather excitable and somewhat overbearing prince, from hounding him until he can relax fully. Yuuri stares down at where their hands are joined, squinting, then glances back to Phichit who meets his gaze over his shoulder with a wide smile.

“Say, Yuuri, are you hungry?”

On cue, Yuuri’s stomach rumbles. A blush spreads across his cheeks, his free hand resting on his belly. Phichit bites back a laugh, but can’t muffle his snort. Yuuri only looks a _little_ offended.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s go to the kitchen, the cook loooves me. I’ve been practicing my puppy-dog eyes and I’ve nearly perfected it, she falls for it every time and sneaks me a bit of whatever she might be making.”

It doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Mischievous, sure, but nothing they’d really get in trouble for. Maybe that’s just his hunger talking. He trusts Phichit though, so he allows him to guide him through the palace then through the servant’s entrance to the kitchen.

The cook is a thin woman with red hair who wipes her flour-covered hands on her apron and smiles at them when they come in. She says something in Seskian, and all he can pick up is ‘Plisetsky’. Phichit snickers and says something back to her. He wonders, not for the first time, how long Phichit has lived in this country. He’s mentioned that he comes from another, but hasn’t gone too much into detail about it. Regardless, he’s entirely at ease here, unlike Yuuri.

The thought is instantly wiped away when a sticky pastry is handed to him. He sniffs it curiously at first while Phichit wastes no time in biting into his own.

While it’s tasty, sugary and sweet, he’s having a hard time actually eating. Hungry as he might be, everything from earlier still has his stomach tight, twisted into knots. For politeness sake, and because he thinks even if it’s hard to eat it’ll still help too, he finishes it off just a little bit slowly. At least Phichit waits for him, striking up a conversation with the cook as she lathers the ham that had been in one oven with honey.

Yuuri pushes the last bit into his mouth. As he chews, his thoughts wander. He needs to find Viktor after this because he knows the prince has to be worried sick and is probably looking for him right now. Guilt settles heavily on his shoulders. The way he rushed away in a panic earlier is enough to warrant an explanation. Viktor deserves one, Yuuri just doesn’t know if he’s ready to give one. There’s a lot Viktor doesn’t know about him yet, and he always thought that was for the best.

He licks sticky frosting from his fingers. “I’m going to leave.”

The cook and Phichit fall silent. She goes back to the ham, while Phichit turns his attention to Yuuri. There’s a knowing look on his face. “Alright, Yuuri. Take some time to breathe.”

“Thank you.” Then he bows deeply to the cook, who smiles at him. “Thank you, too.”

He turns and steps out, almost running face-first into something solid and just slightly shorter than himself. The person before him barely reacts, just taking a step back. Yuuri flushes, lips parting to blurt out a string of apologies that suddenly die on his tongue when he meets the gaze of the other.

The one before him is a knight, that much is evident by the uniform he wears and the sword at his hip. Pale skin, thick black hair and eyebrows, and a blank expression Yuuri thinks is either boredom or one carefully crafted to not betray any emotion.

There’s something else. Yuuri doesn’t know how to explain it. A weird aura around him. The man regards him with dark eyes, something flashing in them briefly, too quick for Yuuri to figure out what it is.

“His Highness,” the knight begins flatly, “is waiting for you in the parlor of the west wing. Follow me”

He takes a moment to scrutinize Yuuri. Their eyes meet for a split second and Yuuri flinches as though he’s been shocked. The knight says nothing more, just turns on his heel and strides away steadily. Yuuri remains rooted in place as he watches the knight, who doesn’t wait for him, leave.

“Sir Seung-gil is kind of strange, isn’t he?” Phichit’s voice pipes up behind him. “I like him. I wonder if he likes me. It’s a little hard to tell.”

Yuuri hasn’t torn his eyes away from this _Seung-gil_ who has now stopped and glanced over his shoulder to give Yuuri a piercing stare. He swallows and nods slowly, “Very strange.”

“Well? Follow him. Viktor must be losing his mind.”

“Right,” Yuuri sounds distant even to his own ears. He looks away and offers Phichit a weak smile.

He leaves with unease prickling beneath his skin that doesn’t fade even when he reaches the parlor doors with Seung-gil, just barely subsiding when the knight leaves.

 

\---

 

Viktor is, in fact, losing his mind. He paces around the parlor restlessly, keeps running his hands through his hair, has considered bringing in a bottle of wine in hopes that alcohol would help relax him but decided against it. Eyes flicker over to the doors constantly, praying Yuuri will walk through them soon. Not even looking out of the window to observe one of the many courtyards on the palace grounds helps soothe him.

It’s been approaching three hours. Three hours isn’t a long time for him and Yuuri to be apart of course, but after Yuuri fled his library with his skin pale and hands shaking it feels like it’s been a lifetime. Supposedly he’s okay now, according to Lady Mila who had seen he and Phichit Chulanont heading towards the kitchens. It’s good to know, but it doesn’t do much to calm him down. He had sent Sir Seung-gil to fetch Yuuri in hopes Yuuri would finally wish to speak with him.

Viktor has a feeling he has done something horribly wrong. He’s not sure _how._ He replays the scene in the library over and over within his head, picking it apart in an attempt to solve the mystery but is coming up with nothing. All he had wanted was to find a chance for Yuuri to escape for a few hours so he could rest out of the flesh of a human. That hadn’t been the issue, had it? Yuuri seemed fine with the idea. It was just when he brought up the _ocean…_

He has many questions, but he doesn’t know if Yuuri would be willing to answer.

The doors open. From where Viktor had just taken a seat beside a small table he jerks his head up, then hops to his feet as Yuuri shuffles in nervously. The chair topples backward with a loud _thud_ that makes Yuuri startle and turn his wide eyes to where the prince stands. Viktor has no idea where to go from there, fingers curling and uncurling at his side as he stands there awkwardly. There’s tension in Yuuri’s body, Viktor can see it. Neither of them moves for what seems to stretch on forever.

Much to his surprise, Yuuri takes the first step. The dragon moves quietly across the parlor, all the way to the opposite end where Viktor now stands. He doesn’t say anything at first, just bends over to lift the chair and set it into its upright position.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. Viktor opens his mouth. _There’s nothing for you to apologize for,_ he wants to say, but for some reason, he can’t. “I didn’t answer your question. And spilling ink on your clothes.”

Viktor almost _laughs._ Is that really what Yuuri is worried about? Still so, so strange to the point where it’s almost funny. The apology is genuine.

“It may not wash out, but I have many other clothes to choose from.” He hasn’t changed yet, the blotches of ink barely visible on his dark trousers but clashing with the crimson and white of his waistcoat and dress shirt. Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek, wringing his hands together in front of him. Viktor resists the urge to take hold of them. They’re close, but Yuuri won’t look at him.

The prince lifts his hand and taps Yuuri on the tip of his reddened nose. Yuuri squeaks. “Viktor--”

“What happened earlier?” Viktor cuts him off. “You looked like you had seen a ghost. Then you took off running. I’m glad that Chulanont found you.”

There’s little speckles of red on the skin beneath Yuuri’s eyes, mingling with the slight sunburn. An obvious sign he had cried at some point. He almost takes hold of Yuuri’s face to rub his thumbs over his cheeks.

“It’s not--”

“Don’t try to tell me it’s not important. There is no reason to lie to me. We are friends, so tell me the truth.” Viktor’s tone shifts quickly. From gentle, to stern and concerned with a commanding edge. Yuuri stares at him, mouth opening to respond, but he hesitates. When he shakes his head Viktor bites back a groan of annoyance.

He wants to admonish Yuuri for his stubbornness, for keeping things from him and making him worry, but Yuuri replies in a voice so quiet he barely hears him, “Not now. Not today. Some day, but not… today.” Their eyes meet for a split second but Yuuri breaks the contact immediately, hanging his head in shame. “I’m not ready to tell you yet.”

One trait Viktor has always had is the tendency to be too curious for his own good. It’s gotten him into trouble frequently, but good has come out of it. It did lead him to Yuuri, after all. That curious part of his brain tells him to press for answers, but the look on Yuuri’s face and the softness of his voice hold him back. Viktor knows better. He won’t get anything from pushing and pushing, it’ll only make Yuuri retreat further into his shell. What Yuuri needs is encouragement, patience, and understanding. Viktor needs to meet him halfway.

His finger trails down to gently tip Yuuri’s chin upward. Those brown eyes refuse to meet his still.

“Another day then,” Viktor murmurs. “Okay, Yuuri.”

The dragon swallows thickly. “I’m sorry for worrying you.” He sounds so terribly sad. Doesn’t he know he doesn’t have to apologize for everything? That not everything is his fault? Viktor runs his finger from Yuuri’s chin to tap his soft cheek.

“You’re forgiven,” Without hesitation, he’s tugging Yuuri into a tight hug, maybe _too_ tight because Yuuri’s squirming and giving little grunts of discomfort. Viktor immediately loosens his grip so Yuuri can take a deep breath. Then the dragon steps forward to return the embrace, tucking his head close to Viktor’s shoulder and Viktor squeezes him with one arm around the waist. “Don’t scare me again, please. I don’t want to tear apart the entire palace looking for you.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri mumbles into his shirt.

“Of course,” Viktor chuckles. The arm around Yuuri’s waist moves and he trails his hand down the dragon’s side, then gives the soft flesh of his waist a pinch through his shirt. Yuuri jolts then makes an aggrieved sound.

“Don’t _do_ that!” The worst thing for Yuuri which also happens to be the best thing for Viktor was learning that Yuuri was awfully ticklish. It was cute, but there’s always the risk of Yuuri trying to rip his hands off. The dragon reaches around to wiggle his fingers into Viktor’s sides, and Viktor can’t muffle the sound that comes out of him, a mixture between a snort and a laugh.

Quickly, before Yuuri can attempt revenge, he adjusts their position so his arm remains around Yuuri’s middle and his opposite hand takes hold of Yuuri’s.

“To make things up to me,” Viktor says, “Dance with me.”

Yuuri gives him an incredulous stare. Viktor smiles, both sweet and mischievous, “Put your hand on my shoulder.”

“But I don’t know how to dance.” Yuuri puts his hand on Viktor’s shoulder anyway. Viktor holds their joined hands out to the side, and the one at the small of Yuuri’s back slips up to rest between his shoulder blades. A standard waltz position.

“Then it’s a good thing Madame Baranovskaya is not here to witness your abysmal footwork, isn’t it?”

There is no music for them to move along to, so Viktor takes it upon himself to hum a tune as they spin about the room. Yuuri’s footwork is _definitely_ abysmal. Yes, if Madame Baranovskaya were to witness this, she would most certainly have a conniption. When one is a dragon you can’t really expect them to be the best dancer, now, can you? Yuuri steps on his feet more times than he can count, splutters out apologies each time, but the longer they go the more he seems to get the hang of it. It won’t take him long to master the art of dance at all.

But Yuuri is tired, that much Viktor can see. Exhaustion from the hot weather, coupled with a breakdown, along with perpetual anxiety would make anyone tired. Yuuri is much braver than he gives himself credit for, and in just three weeks at the palace Viktor has watched him begin to blossom. Viktor wants to teach Yuuri everything he knows, Viktor wants to show Yuuri so many new things.

They come to a stop in the middle of the parlor. Yuuri blinks up at him then smiles.

Viktor wants to be the one to make him smile like that every day.

“It’s almost time for supper,” he murmurs. “Then, maybe, you should get some sleep.”

Yuuri’s hand drops from his shoulder and Viktor slips his arm from behind him. For a few moments longer, their hands remain joined. It’s Yuuri that pulls away first.

“Okay,” he says with soft eyes.

 

\---

 

Like usual, Yuuri opts out of eating supper with Viktor and his mother. The Queen doesn’t seem offended at least, Yuuri knows he’ll come around eventually and she probably knows it, too. He’s still having a bit of trouble eating, hungry but without a real appetite. Usually, when under stress, he’d find himself eating as much as he could. This time is a bit different, his stomach is still knotted up. He eats the ham (the same ham he had seen the cook preparing earlier) slowly as to not make himself sick, washes it down with cider, then steps into the hall to find Viktor waiting for him. They agree to continue their conversation about their trip the next day.

Viktor has made a habit of accompanying Yuuri back to his room in the evening. He always keeps his back to Yuuri while Yuuri undresses and changes into a nightshirt, then will sit on the edge of the bed with only the light of a small candle illuminating the darkness until Yuuri falls asleep. Yuuri has memorized the song Viktor hums each night but has never asked about it.

In the middle of the night, he’s suddenly jolting up in bed, shrouded in darkness with only dim light from the moon shining in through the window. A wave of nausea hits him, but he can’t throw up, and dizziness causes him to fall back in the bed. Viktor has long since left to retire to his own chambers for the evening, so Yuuri is alone with only the quickly fading memory of the nightmare that had woken him.

 

_Fangs and claws and scales and flames. Angry shrieks and the smell of dragon blood. So hot it made him sweat beneath his fur. Pain in his ribs and his chest and his throat. Dark eyes with a piercing stare and shadows dancing around corners._

 

He didn’t understand, he still doesn’t. He’s not sure he wants to. Viktor’s chambers are so far from Yuuri’s own, but he desperately needs the company. There’s the risk of getting seen by guards. It’ll look strange to be caught wandering the palace on his own in only his nightshirt, and downright _suspicious_ if he’s seen slipping into the prince’s quarters like this at this time of night. At the moment, Yuuri can’t give a damn.

Fighting off nausea, he slips out of bed and presses his hand to the wall to guide him towards the doors. Yuuri neglects to pick up his glasses, which only makes navigating through the palace at night even more difficult.

The door opens with a creak. There are small lamps hanging from the ceiling that dimly illuminate the empty corridor. Yuuri pads bare-footed over the carpets which keep his footsteps silent. His head hurts and moving is difficult, his muscles tired and sore.

He’s halfway toward the west wing when he hears the sounds of a soft conversation from around a corner at the end of the corridor. Yuuri has a moment of panic, looking around for somewhere to hide and deciding to duck into the nearest unlocked room, which happens to just be an unused guest chambers. He leans heavily against the door, eyes pinched shut, his head spinning and a hand pressed over his mouth to keep himself from vomiting.

The sound of talking gets closer. Yuuri does his best to ignore it, but a familiar voice has his eyes snapping open and ear pressing to the door.

“--...to watch him?” Yuuri doesn’t catch the first bit, but he recognizes the indifferent drawl of Sir Seung-gil. Another voice, the one he is speaking to, responds. It’s a woman’s voice, one he doesn’t recognize.

“We need you to. For his sake,” she says, her voice hushed. Yuuri’s brows twitch in confusion. What are they talking about? Walking around in the middle of the night, whispering to one another about… gods, Yuuri doesn’t know. About watching someone. The woman’s voice carries on, “To keep him safe.”

“What benefit do I get out of keeping him--”

“This isn’t about you, this is--”

“--someone is nearby.” Seung-gil cuts her off. They both fall silent. Yuuri stops breathing entirely, eyes squeezing shut again and he backs away from the door. It’s quiet and still for a few moments longer. Yuuri can’t breathe, his lungs are starting to ache. The sound of footsteps does not move towards the room and instead carries on down the corridor, the voices too soft and too far away to hear any more. He lets himself breathe then, taking in deep gulps of air. Yuuri wonders if he should tell anyone what he’s heard, wonders if this is cause for concern. Something about keeping someone safe, but who? He’s far too tired to try to work this out. Maybe it’s just his imagination running wild from his exhaustion.

He waits a few minutes in the darkness of the room before he slips out, taking a look around then continuing his journey to Viktor’s room as quickly as he can.

Yuuri only opens the doors a tiny bit, enough that he can slip through and close them behind him with little noise. Viktor is fast asleep, a single lump under the blankets of his large bed. Makkachin is curled up next to him, stirring from his slumber at the sound of Yuuri moving across the room and giving a few sleepy thumps of his tail when recognizing him. Yuuri gives him a scratch on the head then slips into the bed, keeping a large amount of space between him and Viktor. Just his mere presence alone is enough to give him some peace.

So he curls up into a tight ball on top of the blankets, nose pressing into the duvet, and wills himself to forget his nightmare, to forget the bits of the conversation between Sir Seung-gil and the mystery woman he had heard in the corridor, and he falls into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HOW ABOUT THAT YURI ON STAGE DRAMA AND THE YOI MOVIE ANNOUNCEMENT AM I RIGHT LADIES....
> 
> ANYWAY! first off, thank you to everyone who has been reading and telling people about this fic. thank you to everyone who has commented, and i'm sorry i don't respond to everyone, but i read and appreciate every comment all the same! you guys really keep me going!
> 
> second, some art has been made!
> 
> a lovely portrait by icarussdive on twitter of yuuri in his dragon form [here](https://twitter.com/icarussdive/status/855592731149815808)!!!
> 
> YUURI'S LIL FANGS IN HIS HUMAN FORM!!! and viktor gushing over them by NICHOLASonICE on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/NICHOLASonICE/status/854864774189817856)!!!
> 
> a cute picture by yacchans on twitter of yuuri in his human form wearing viktor's cloak [here](https://twitter.com/yachhans/status/857049938018131968)!!!
> 
> third, i started a playlist for this fic which you can find on youtube [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLl8Yp0oUGzgWMSJ0K1J7y468r_MAii4vU)!
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> as usual, my twitter is [here](http://twitter.com/yuurigif)! i'll post about updates there! you can ask me questions or just talk to me!  
> my tumblr is [here](http://yuuriofficial.tumblr.com), if you would prefer to ask questions anonymously.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This must be what happiness is, Yuuri thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got a little more (fire emoji) in some places than initially planned.

It isn’t the sunlight streaming through the door leading to the balcony into his closed eyes that wakes him. It isn’t the morning chill that wakes him. It isn’t the sound of birdsong outside that wakes him. What wakes him is the incessant poking at his ribs, which makes him squirm with a sleepy grumble. Yuuri blindly swats at the hand and whines in protest. He rolls onto his belly to press his face into soft pillows, longing for just a few more minutes of sleep.

He hears a sigh full of exasperated fondness. It takes a few moments for him to process everything through the sleepy haze of his brain. This isn’t his room, this isn’t his bed, he’s not under the blankets and he’s only in his nightshirt and undergarments, so he’s a little chilly. Where is he again?

Yuuri turns his head with his cheek pressed flush to a pillow, opening his eyes and blinking a few times to chase away the bleariness though everything a few feet away still becomes blurred. Clear as day, just a foot away from him, he sees Viktor propped up on one elbow and looking down at him. Makkachin is snoozing at the foot of the bed.

Oh, right. This is Viktor’s room. Memories from last night come back to him slowly. The nightmare, the conversation between Sir Seung-gil and a woman he didn’t know when he was on his way here. Yuuri blinks again. That might be something he needs to mention. Maybe. He’s too tired right now.

Viktor is still pretty even if he’s just woken up. Silver hair unruly, blue eyes clear as the summer skies and heavy-lidded. The morning sunlight pouring in accentuates the angular features of his face, and it makes his eyes sparkle. He’s smiling.

Ah, he’s also not wearing a shirt. The blankets still pooled around his hips help protect his modesty -- _is he even wearing underwear?_ \-- but it doesn’t lessen Yuuri’s embarrassment at all. Heat floods to his cheeks, it makes even his ears burn. He shoves his face back into the pillow with another grumble.

“Yuuri…” It’s spoken gently. Viktor’s voice is still rough with sleep. “Good morning, Yuuri.”

Whatever gods humans worship there are, Yuuri curses all of them for letting him be too weak to resist how the prince speaks to him. He’s been trying so hard to heed Phichit’s warning, to not let himself get too close, too carried away. It’s just… difficult, not when he keeps finding himself drawn to Viktor no matter what. Viktor is always kind to him, Viktor wants to protect him, Viktor gave him a home.

But maybe, maybe whatever Viktor is feeling doesn’t go beyond the bond between close friends. Yuuri can’t say that it’s the same for him. He’s not human like Viktor, he’s much too different. He doubts it would ever work out if there was something. Just thinking about it makes him want to crawl into a hole and die, but he can’t tear himself away.

Yuuri grunts with effort as he turns his body to face Viktor, cracking his eyes open again.

“Good morning, Viktor.”

He can almost pretend the way Viktor looks at him means something more. The prince smiles, big and bright and sweet. Yuuri can’t stop himself from smiling back. Viktor sits up fully and Yuuri has to bite back the sigh of relief when he catches a glimpse of the line of Viktor’s undergarments as the blanket slides further down.

“Did you come in last night? I didn’t hear you.” The prince slips from the bed. Yuuri does his best to keep his eyes directed up, but it’s not much better. Viktor isn’t bulky, but he is broad, still defined with muscle but slender and graceful all the same. Yuuri watches how his shoulder blades shift beneath his skin as he stretches.

Yuuri almost forgets to respond through his staring. “Y-yes. I… I’m sorry. I will be sure not to do it again.”

“No need for apologies. You’re always welcome here,” Viktor responds as he moves about the large room. Yuuri strokes idly at Makkachin’s fur to distract himself until the dog decides to hop off the bed and pad out the balcony doors. The dragon huffs. “Just wake me next time so I know.”

“O...kay.” He can’t fathom how Viktor isn’t even at least a little annoyed. Maybe he’s just trying to be nice.

Yuuri sighs, directing his attention to the chambers. It’s decorated in colors of red and purple and golden. There’s a large vanity on one side of the room, an open doorway near it leading into a grand bathroom. Ornate plush chairs sit near a fireplace, there is a large closet presumably full of Viktor’s clothes, and three filled bookcases with a desk sitting nearby. It all seems like too much for just one man.

“Why did you come here in the first place?” Viktor asks, directing Yuuri’s attention back to him. It’s a little difficult to see him where he stands now. The dragon sits up, scooting across the bed to sit at the edge and get a clearer view. At least he’s wearing trousers now, loose-fitting as they may be.

“I…” He hadn’t thought of any excuses. It didn’t really occur to him when he arrived. “Just… couldn’t sleep well. I was nervous. And you--”

Yuuri falls silent and stares at his feet, warm down to his collarbones. He feels Viktor watching him expectantly.

“And I…?”

“You are comfortable,” he squeezes out, “to be around.”

Eyes screw shut. He hears Viktor chuckle, but it isn’t mean or mocking, even though Yuuri’s brain desperately tries to find a way to make it seem like it is.

He hears Viktor approach him, sees his legs when he stops to stand in front of Yuuri.

“Comfortable,” Viktor echoes, half to himself. “I see.”

Viktor’s back is bowed just a little so that when Yuuri looks up, they are at eye-level. He’s so close. Yuuri swallows. Why is Viktor looking at him like that? Lips twisted into an almost sly smirk, sleepy eyes now sharp. Like he’s some clever sort of fox.

“Let’s go out tomorrow,” he murmurs. Suddenly there are familiar hands on Yuuri’s thighs, exposed partially by the nightshirt he wears. They ignite embers beneath his skin and it’s making it rather hard to think properly.

“T-tomorrow? I thought you--” Yuuri clears his throat, “I thought you said we would have to wait longer.”

“I would rather not make you wait longer than you have to. I will reschedule appointments.” Viktor speaks far too casually while his curious, bold fingers tease beneath the hem of the nightshirt. Yuuri is trying not to tremble. He looks away from him again, instead focusing on the long, pale scar standing out against Viktor’s ribs and curving around to his back. _Where did he get that?_ Yuuri never knew about it, but Yuuri also hasn’t seen Viktor without a shirt until today. Oh, it’s too hard to dwell on it or focus when Viktor’s hands are still on him and making his body react in terrible, terrible ways.

“Okay,” he almost squeaks. “Okay--”

Viktor’s smile widens. He feels the brush of blunt nails against his skin.

_Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no._

It’s pooling low in his gut, that hot and tight and twisting feeling. Yuuri knows of _lust,_ or what it may be to humans, but he had never really thought that _he_ would fall victim to such an emotion. Breath catches in his throat, eyes wide and round. He wants it, he wants this, but he can’t. He can’t. It wouldn’t be right.

Yuuri forces himself to tear away from the touch, shoving past Viktor as he makes for the door in quick strides. Makkachin pokes his head back into the chambers curiously. Viktor turns, blinking in alarm and confusion.

“Where are you going?”  
  
“Back to-- to-- to my room,” he stumbles on his words, reaching for the door pulls.

“Like this?” Viktor gestures to him and Yuuri knows he’s referring to his lack of proper clothes. “Let me get you something better to--”

“No!” Yuuri says a bit too loudly. “No, no! It’s fine! I can deal with it!”

Viktor has no time to protest because Yuuri’s out of the doors within moments. He’ll be embarrassed later about traversing the halls in nothing but his night clothes, but he’s more concerned with getting back to his own chambers. So he ignores anyone he passes by, any of their stares, knowing they’ll be whispering about it to one another and it’ll be all over the palace by noon. Fire still burns under his skin, he still feels the ghost of those hands on his legs and Viktor’s eyes boring into him.

_Be careful._

What if he doesn’t want to be careful?

Yuuri finally curses the moment he’s in his room with the doors shut and bolted behind him. A low, guttural growl in the tongue humans will never be able to understand. It feels and sounds strange on his tongue, but he can’t bring himself to care right now.

Later, he’ll be ashamed with how he so easily gave into his body. How he arched into his hand, his face pressed into his pillows, Viktor’s name a breathy chant on his lips.

 

\---

 

It was a mistake, Viktor knows it. It sticks with him all morning. He had been much too forward, he had scared Yuuri off. Again. Now he hasn’t seen Yuuri since he fled from his chambers. The dragon’s doing his best to avoid him, he’s not even holed up in his room like Viktor thought he would be. He isn’t with Chulanont. He isn’t in the gardens. In fact, Viktor has no clue where else he would be. It’s distracting.

“Viktor, what’s on your mind?” A voice, smooth and deep and familiar, pulls him from his thoughts. He glances to the side. Duke Christophe Giacometti is giving him an inquisitive stare behind his rounded spectacles, one brow raised. He doesn’t tear his eyes away even when he brings his teacup to his lips.

Viktor dumps another cube of sugar into his tea, stirring it slowly. When he doesn’t respond at first Christophe huffs.

“You’re hardly ever this distracted when I visit. Have I grown _boring?_ I’m hurt.” He’s not. Viktor knows that. Just like Christophe knows there’s something eating at him. They’ve been friends for approaching ten years since Christophe and his parents visited Seskia from the neighboring country of Maryonne, and the then fifteen-year-old marquess happened upon the then eighteen-year-old prince. He had been so sweet and soft then, his hair brown and bushy and his green eyes wide. Just a little boy skipping through the meadows.

The years have certainly shaped him into something quite different.

“I’m thinking,” Viktor responds, taking a sip from his cup and ignoring the fact he may have put too much sugar in.

“Aren’t you always?” Christophe leans back in his chair, letting the summer breeze wash over him. It’s a pleasant day, much less hot than the one prior. Sitting out in the courtyard was a good idea. Plus, there’d hardly be any potential eavesdroppers. Not like they would hear much of interest between him and Chris, nothing they could twist and turn into a silly little rumor at least.

Speaking of rumors, he’s already heard talk among the servants of Yuuri being seen leaving his room red as a beet in only his nightshirt and undergarments. They are drawing their own conclusions of what may have happened, and Viktor feels a bit of guilt. Yuuri didn’t need to be the subject of any rumors. He’s already struggling enough as it is to keep up his image. Viktor will find a way to put an end to any talk.

“Is it a man? A woman?” Chris speaks again, a teasing edge to his voice. Viktor snorts. That seems to be enough of an answer. “It _is!_ Fantastic. I mean, I wasn’t being serious, but… Who is it, then? Tell me about them. I would _love_ to know all about the one who has stolen dear Vitya’s heart.”

Viktor wrinkles his nose. “I’d rather my love life, or lack thereof, not be today’s topic.”

“Then perhaps stop staring into the distance and sighing dreamily while I try to talk to you.” There’s a pout on Christophe’s face. “Honestly, I take the time to come and visit you, yet you won’t give me the time of day.”

At least he drops the subject for now. Viktor is thankful for that. The prince picks up the teapot and refills both their cups.

“ _Merci._ Now, as I was saying,” Christophe crosses one leg over the other as he stirs in a bit of cream and sugar into his tea. He clinks the spoon against the edge thoughtfully. “Have you heard the news from the city? I know it has reached here from Lausoix. Perhaps even beyond...”

He’s not expecting much, really. Maybe news of some highly-respected nobleman committing fraud or running off with his mistress. Word travels fast, even about the most trivial things. Viktor is prepared for whatever simple gossip it may be. Christophe has much of that, at least, and it can be rather entertaining to share stories.

But Christophe’s voice drops low, he’s leaning towards Viktor with a hand on his arm. The expression on his face is dark, “Have you heard of… well, she is most commonly known in Maryonne as _Danseur de dragons._ ”

 _Dancer of dragons._ Viktor’s attention is entirely on Christophe now. He’s heard stories. A woman hailing from a country in the East called _Nippon._ An assassin, a rebel, one who had been known to give refuge to the dragons that had crossed her path while striking down nobility. She was no dragon, but she had been a friend of their kind. Twenty-five years ago when she had been hiding out in the underbelly of Maryonne’s capital, Lausoix, she was found out and almost every dragon under her care had been eradicated, only a few escaping, while she was sentenced to execution.

The morning of the day she was meant to die, her cell was found empty with only a note pinned to the wall by a small dagger. No one has been able to decipher what she had written, the only conclusion was that it was written in the language of dragons.

She had neither been seen nor heard of since.

“I have,” Viktor eyes Christophe suspiciously.

Viktor had been two years old when these events occurred, too young to understand or realize what was going on just one country over and the threat it may cause to their own. The first he heard of her was when he was thirteen, stealing away with a cloak over his head to sneak into a pub and listen to the grizzled, gruff men that came there every night.

“Supposedly she has been sighted. First in Maryonne’s countryside just outside Lausoix, making her way towards Seskia. Towards Kypol. Of course, there is no way to know if it is really her. It has been twenty-five years… she’d be approaching fifty, at least. She would look different now. And there were no paintings, nothing kept of her image in the first place. Just memories.”

His thoughts are already going back to Yuuri. He would not know of her, would he? The fact she’s been presumably sighted now, not long after he’s taken Yuuri in…

Viktor wonders if it’s just coincidence.

Maybe it isn’t her, maybe it’s just someone with an uncanny resemblance. On the chance it _is_ her, should he be worried for Yuuri? Would she know what he really is? Would she try to take him away?

“Viktor?” Christophe’s voice pulling him from his thoughts makes him realize how dangerously tight he’s holding his tea cup, his other hand squeezing the armrest of his chair ‘til his knuckles turn white. Viktor sucks in a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He feels Christophe’s eyes on him. The duke sets his cup down on the saucer, placing it on the table. “Is there something the matter?”

It’ll be impossible to smile his way out of this one. Any excuse he might have probably won’t be too convincing, he just hopes Christophe won’t prod. “It’s just worrisome. She is dangerous, is she not? If she really has been sighted coming here…”

Eyes turn their gaze up to the clear sky as he trails off. He thinks of Yuuri again.

“I will make sure to strengthen our security if my mother has not already done so.” Fingers brush through his hair almost nervously.

“Pray for the best, I suppose.” Christophe sighs. Then a smile spreads back to his lips. “Fancy a game of chess?”

“If you don’t mind losing. I _know_ you cheated last time. Magic is forbidden.”

“I could _never_ back down from a challenge like that, and I did _not_ cheat!” They both laugh and rise to their feet, setting their saucers and empty teacups onto the tray for a servant to take away later.

“And you can tell me about your love life,” Christophe teases with a wink, _“Or lack thereof.”_

_“Christophe.”_

 

\---

 

It isn’t like he enjoys avoiding Viktor. He’d prefer to be in his company, but he doesn’t think he can look him in the eye anytime soon. Not after that morning, not after he fled and gave into human urges. Gods, Yuuri is still so embarrassed. No one pestered him when he finally came out after bathing and dressing, and for that he is thankful. But while they may have left him alone, that doesn’t mean they weren’t talking. He already knew of the rumors flying around, Phichit had told him when he stopped by the servant’s quarters briefly.

Yuuri insisted nothing had happened, because really? Nothing had happened. Maybe something would have, but he left before he could let himself give in. Did Viktor really want him? Was Yuuri just imagining it? Was it a joke? It had to have been. Why would Viktor want someone like _him?_ He is a dragon, after all, he’s sure that Viktor knows better. Or maybe Viktor wanted to see what it was like. Something new, something different, something exciting. Then they would go back to what they were before, close and unlikely friends, mentor and apprentice.

 _Just one night would be enough,_ Yuuri thinks. _Then it will all go back to normal._

He can’t even convince himself of that. He wants to be more than just another name on the list of those who had found their way into Viktor’s bed. If he can’t be more, then… he won’t even try. With everything else in his heart… not just lust, or mere infatuation. He has no word for the feeling, but he’s decided to call it love.

It’s frightening.

It feels like hours that he’s pacing through the palace. No one bothers him, only giving a nod in greeting before going back to whatever it is they were doing before. At least Yuuri has an excuse to avoid Viktor as much as he doesn’t want to, hearing that a close friend of his was visiting from a neighboring country.

Yuuri comes to a halt in the middle of the hall. The same one he had overheard Sir Seung-gil and a stranger in last night. Who was she? Her voice unfamiliar, sharp and demanding, and she got more words out of Seung-gil than Yuuri thought possible. He just doesn’t know what they were talking about. The dragon stares up at the ceiling, to one of the small chandeliers twinkling above.

“Ah! Viktor, is this him?” A smooth voice accompanied by a hand a little too far down his back makes him freeze up. The stranger speaks right next to his ear, “He is much cuter than I expected.”

The warmth of the other person pulls back and Yuuri turns around quickly. His face is burning, his eyes wide. There is a strange man there, with brown hair cut close to his skin leading up to blonde curls atop his head partially hidden beneath a cocked hat, the look in his green eyes and the borderline sultry smile on his lips enough to make Yuuri blush harder. Behind him is Viktor, who is blatantly avoiding meeting Yuuri’s gaze. It makes his stomach tighten.

He turns his attention back to the stranger, who removes his hat and holds it to his chest as he bows deeply.

“Christophe Giacometti, Duke of Lausoix.” The man’s free hand takes Yuuri’s, bringing it to his lips. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Monsieur…?”

Yuuri almost forgets how to speak. His brain takes a moment to process everything before realizing he’s supposed to introduce himself. When he responds he wants to slap himself with how he stutters over his words, “Y-Yuuri Ka-Katsuki.”

Christophe does not seem deterred. He gives Yuuri’s knuckles a kiss then releases his hand. “Monsieur Yuuri Katsuki. Beautiful. I hope Viktor is treating you well.”

Something in his voice hints at another meaning in his words. Yuuri pretends to be clueless of it.

“Um, yes. He is.” He catches a glimpse of Viktor casting a glance at him through that. “Very well, actually.”

“Good. If that ever changes, don’t be afraid to send word to me. I will set him straight.” Christophe winks. Yuuri’s fighting off a smile but failing. The duke is a kind man, at least, even if it looks like he’s quite free with his charms.

Christophe glances over his shoulder at Viktor, speaking to Yuuri without looking his way. “We’ve just finished a game of chess.”

“Which you lost,” Viktor says. The first thing since the two ran into Yuuri. There’s laughter in his blue eyes, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Which I lost,” Christophe echoes with a pout. “But one day, that will change.”

“If you say so.” Viktor finally looks at Yuuri again. The dragon rubs the nape of his neck awkwardly, turning his eyes downward. Christophe glances between them, not bothering to bite back his amused snort. The prince rolls his eyes with playful exasperation at his friend. “Christophe, can you leave us for a bit? I need to speak with my student.”

Yuuri tenses up at that, panic beginning to rise from the pit of his gut to his chest. It feels like his ribs are closing in around his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“Of course. I’ll pay Madame Baranovskaya a visit, maybe. I’m sure she misses me.”

“She despises you, Christophe.”

“Ah, she will come around eventually. Everyone does.” Christophe waves his hand dismissively. “I will see you again at supper. Monsieur Katsuki, it was so wonderful meeting you.”

“Oh, er… you, too.” Yuuri lets himself smile again. Then Christophe is heading down the hall, leaving Viktor and Yuuri standing there alone.

Neither of them speaks for a moment, like they are waiting for the other to say something first. Viktor studies him with hands folded behind his back, while Yuuri shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He tries desperately to come up with something to say, something not too terribly awkward or uncomfortable, but what is he supposed to say? Are they going to discuss that morning, or will they conveniently pretend it never happened? It’s better to say something rather than letting it sit, creating unnecessary tension, but…

“I’m--” “Are you--”

They both fall silent immediately. Yuuri looks away again, hands fumbling in front of him. Viktor bites his bottom lip then speaks, “You go first.”

Yuuri grimaces. He smooths his hands out over the front of his trousers, sucks in a deep breath, packs up the courage to look at Viktor and says, “Are you angry?”

The puzzled look on Viktor’s face is somewhat relieving, but not entirely. The prince takes a careful step forward and Yuuri can tell he’s trying not to push boundaries. For once. That makes him worry more. Did he just completely drive Viktor away? That’s not what he wanted. That’s the last thing he wanted. His chest is unbearably tight, he thinks he’s stopped breathing.

“Of course not,” Viktor says. Yuuri lets out a rush of air.

“But I--”

“I wasn’t meaning to cause you discomfort. I should have asked,” Viktor continues. One hand comes out from behind his back and he clears his throat into his fist. “The last remnants of sleep made me bold, I suppose. You needn’t concern yourself with it.”

That hurts, just a bit. He speaks as if it didn’t mean anything, that it was just an early morning impulse and Yuuri happened to be there, so he was subject to it. There’s a sting in his heart that he tries to ignore. Yuuri bears down on the inside of his cheek, fangs digging into the flesh and bringing up tiny pinpricks of blood.

“So I’m sorry,” the prince sighs.

“It’s… fine,” Yuuri says. It isn’t like he can be angry at Viktor for not really wanting him. He doesn’t blame him one bit for it. Just Viktor’s dear friend, just his student… Yuuri is more angry at himself for getting his hopes up, for getting carried away. His closes his eyes tightly, steadies his breathing, digging through his racing thoughts to find one to focus on. Another subject to bring up.

But Viktor is already excusing himself. Yuuri turns quickly to catch his sleeve. “Wait, ah, Viktor.”

The prince turns his head, brows raising. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri meets his gaze then and doesn’t waver. His voice is firm, “Take me to the beach instead.”

“Yuuri…” Viktor searches his face. “Are you sure?”

After yesterday, it’s no wonder Viktor is worried. Yuuri swallows then nods three times. Viktor concedes.

“Then we will have to wait for a week since it is farther away and requires more time and preparation. Is that alright?”

“Yes. It’s alright.” Yuuri thinks he can deal with another few days’ worth of anxiety being stuck like this. It will be fine. There are plenty of things he can use to distract himself.

Viktor smiles at him, warm and genuine. It makes Yuuri’s heart ache. “Perfect.”

 

\---

 

It’s not really fine. By the third day, Yuuri is having a difficult time with his temper. There’s an unbearable itch beneath his skin. He almost set the stables on fire once when he ran out of patience, snapping at the poor servant girl who had found him just to tell him that it was lunchtime. Of course, he apologized profusely later that day.

Most of his time is spent out on the training grounds honing his magic, even if Viktor isn’t around. More than once Yuuri has considered taking a horse out of the palace and into the woods so he can take some time to change, even if only for an hour or so. It’d be to rid him of this horrible itch and irritability until a week is up and they can leave.

At least Viktor is making preparations for the small trip when he can. Working around and rescheduling appointments, making sure someone will keep watch on Makkachin. It’s a lot of effort for just one short journey, but Yuuri appreciates it all the same. Still, the fact they’re going to the beach, where Yuuri will lay his eyes upon the vast expanse of the ocean. The ocean he’s grown to fear after being ripped away from his family. Memories of too-small cages, the smell of blood and vomit mixing in with the salty sea air, the pain of rope rubbing his legs and snout raw. He tries desperately to push those thoughts away. He’ll be there with Viktor, he’ll be safe, there will be nothing to hurt him. It’s just a matter of being strong, being brave enough to face that fear.

He notices more than once Sir Seung-gil watching him. Oftentimes when he’s out training, or simply when the knight happens to walk by and keeps his stare firmly on Yuuri, but he never speaks. That strange aura around him never fades. It only makes the itch under Yuuri’s skin worse, but it’s almost impossible to predict where the knight will be. He considers confronting Seung-gil about what he heard the other night, but something holds him back. For now, he wants to watch and see what happens.

Neither he nor Viktor brought up that one morning again, and perhaps it’s for the best. The tension from that day has faded at least, but Yuuri still can’t get rid of the memory of how Viktor’s hands felt on his skin. He’s learned in only these past few days what his body likes, how to ignite a fire in his belly, how to bring him some distraction and relief from his growing impatience and the painful want he feels.

Honestly, he thinks it’s only serving to make that want worse.

On the fifth day, two days until he and Viktor leave, Yuuri snaps when catching Sir Seung-gil watching him again.

“What do you want?” He demands, slamming the newly-gifted notebook (after he ruined his other one) down onto the small table. The sound echoes through the library and an elderly noblewoman across the room throws him a dirty look. Yuuri doesn’t care. He’s this close to setting the nearest bookshelf aflame, the fire prickling under his skin along with the anger and irritation and anxiety. It’s stupid for him to do, but he marches right up to the knight.

“What do you want?” Yuuri repeats. “You keep watching me. I am not blind. What do you want?”

There’s no change in Seung-gil’s expression. The knight stares at him, eyes flickering up just a tad given their tiny difference in height. Yuuri gnashes his teeth together, his anger levels only rising when Seung-gil doesn’t give him a proper response.

Yuuri doesn’t lash out at others often. He attempts to keep things mostly bottled inside and directed at himself. But _this?_ Even if he was in a better state of mind he would know that his anger at being watched is warranted. Does this have to do with the other night? Or did Viktor tell Seung-gil to watch him? Is there some kind of horrible plot going on? One would think Seung-gil would be much more subtle about it to avoid Yuuri asking questions.

Apparently not.

Without thinking he reaches out to grab the front of the knight’s tabard, relishing in the brief flicker of surprise in those dark eyes when he’s yanked forward. The noblewoman minds her own business for the most part but casts a few sidelong glances.

Seung-gil grasps onto his wrists. The contact sends sparks through his arms. The metal and leather of his gauntlets are cool against his skin.

“I don’t…” The knight’s grip tightens. “...want anything.”

Impassive as ever. He speaks just like Yuuri remembers hearing him the other night. Part of him is prepared to demand answers right here and now, but there are listening ears, and in his current state of mind Yuuri isn’t sure how he’ll react to any answer he may get.

“Then leave me alone,” Yuuri chokes out. “Please.”

Seung-gil stares at him, barely blinking. It almost makes Yuuri cry, how he doesn’t respond or even seem fazed. Maybe his anger just seems like a joke, maybe he looks like a fool, maybe he is a fool, an idiot, and he should hole himself up in his room until it’s time to leave. Maybe he shouldn’t be around anyone in the first place.

Their gazes lock for a moment. They both stiffen. Seung-gil’s thick brows furrow and Yuuri searches his face, the tension between them crackling and white-hot.

He shoves Seung-gil away, swipes up his notebook, and rushes out of the library with tears stinging at his eyes.

The next two days are hell. He can’t sleep well at all, he knows he’s worrying those that don’t _know_ why he’s acting like this, and he can’t scrounge up any proper excuse. Yuuri will let them come to their own conclusions, Phichit had already asked if he was nearing his cycle, which Yuuri didn’t understand until a few hours later when he asked a rather flustered Viktor what it meant.

The night before they’re supposed to leave, Viktor visits his room as he usually does when Yuuri is ready to retire to bed. Yuuri wraps himself in the blankets, his body buzzing with nerves, and he feels Viktor’s fingers in his hair.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

Yuuri makes a sound that’s between a scoff and a laugh. “I’ve been ready. I may lose my mind if I have to wait longer.”

“Always so impatient.” He hears the smile in Viktor’s voice, and while Yuuri _wants_ to be annoyed he can’t bring himself to be.

“Sunrise…” Yuuri sighs, eyes falling shut.

“Sunrise,” Viktor echoes.

His sleep is still fitful, but it is dreamless.

 

\---

 

Dealing with an exhausted, jumpy, and cranky Yuuri was more difficult than he expected. Viktor has to practically drag him out of his room after forcing him to bathe and dress with the help of Phichit, he has to force him to eat _something_ so he wouldn’t get sick and pass out before they got there. Yuuri stands off to the side wrapped in a cloak while Viktor checks Ludmila’s saddle, rubbing his eyes with one hand and knocking his glasses out of place.

He can’t help but smile when Yuuri squints up at the morning sun as though it’s caused him a great offense. It’s endearing, but he knows that Yuuri isn’t exactly in the best mood. Calling him cute would most likely just irritate him further. That doesn’t mean Viktor can’t think it, though.

When he makes sure the supplies are in order, he beckons Yuuri over. The dragon gives him a pointed look but pads over anyway, suspiciously eyeing the few knight that linger nearby. Viktor takes note of that, and when Yuuri looks up at him with a question in his eyes the prince is quick to respond.

“They are just meant to escort us through the city and to the edge of the woods.”

“...Okay.” Yuuri still looks wary, understandably so.

The knights, while they say nothing for now and instead stand straight and patient (save for Lady Mila, who leans on her lance and seems ready to fall asleep at any moment), obviously have their own curiosities and suspicions about the trip. The two will be at the beach, a place lovely and peaceful, all by themselves. They’ll be camping for a night there as well, Viktor knows how that must look.

That’s the least of his concerns. Yuuri managing to hold himself together until they’re at their destination is more important. A two hour trip by horse, and thankfully Ludmila, being a warhorse, has enough strength and stamina to get them all the way there with little need to rest. She’s still somewhat wary of Yuuri and the feeling is very much mutual, but they’re capable of tolerating one another. There would be no risk of her trying to kick him off. Still, with Yuuri’s state of mind, Viktor is worried he _won’t_ be able to wait that whole time.

There was also the news relayed to him by Christophe just a week before. Dancer of dragons. When he told his mother what he had heard, she had given a slow nod of understanding and sighed out a response of, “I know.”

More guards had been posted around the palace grounds since, making it difficult for any trespasser to slip inside with any sort of ease. But if that woman, if she really _was_ back, if she really _was_ now taking refuge in Seskia… if she had been able to escape a prison cell undetected, leaving no evidence to where she may have gone… who is to say she wouldn’t be able to find a way? Would she have any interest in doing so in the first place?

The beach itself… Yuuri had been the one to suggest it despite how the mere mention of the ocean had thrown him into a state of dissociation. Him trying to face his fears, maybe? It’s just… what if actually being there triggers an even worse response? Viktor had been hesitant, he still is, because while Yuuri is capable of being very brave that bravery can cross over into stupidity. Yuuri is not stupid, but certain decisions can be.

“You’re thinking again,” Yuuri says quietly. Viktor laughs weakly.

“I suppose so.”

He assists Yuuri in climbing onto Ludmila’s saddle. The horse shifts her weight, ears twitching back. Viktor checks everything one last time. A silver compass is slipped into his pocket. He brushes his fingers over the pommel of the sword at his hip, then pulls himself up onto the saddle behind Yuuri. Much like it had been only a month ago, it’s a tight fit, with his chest to Yuuri’s back. Yuuri doesn’t seem as bothered this time, most likely because he’s far too tired and far more concerned with other things.

The knights take their positions, two on each side of Ludmila, and they make their way at a steady pace from the palace grounds. Viktor had quietly requested they go around Kypol rather than straight through, simply for comfort’s sake, even if it might take a bit longer. The knights comply without question, but he does see Mila toss him an inquisitive look accompanied by a half-smirk.

Yuuri keeps nodding off in front of him. Viktor’s arms at either side of him keep him from sliding off the saddle. His head will start to droop, eyelids heavy, then he’ll jolt awake again when Ludmila snorts or they hit a patch of uneven ground.

“When shall we prepare for your return tomorrow, Your Highness?” One knight asks as they reach the edge of the woods leading west.

“There’s no need to,” he replies. “We will be fine.” Yuuri blinks slowly, most of his agitation seeming absent for now. The look on his face is a little… dazed, maybe. He just looks exhausted. Viktor isn’t surprised, he knows the toll this has taken on Yuuri. Remaining out of the form he was born as, grew as, longer than he is used to. _Far_ longer than he is used to. Viktor feels a bit of guilt for it, he never took how that might be into account when offering Yuuri that new life.

In time he thinks Yuuri will grow used to it, but it was unkind for Viktor to make him wait an entire month.

“Come back to us in one piece, _Your Highness,_ ” Mila coos. The other knights shift awkwardly. She’s familiar with Viktor much like Yuri is. He had watched over them both often when they were younger and _may_ have helped them in their mischief-making at times. Viktor can’t even bring himself to scold her now and instead rolls his eyes with a tiny smile.

The knights salute them. When they begin to march away, Viktor gently shakes Yuuri back to semi-alertness.

“Are you alright, _solnyshko?_ ” The endearment brings back memories. Viktor catches the brief, tired smile Yuuri gives in response to it. The dragon hums in response, and Viktor can feel it against his chest.

He casts a glance over his shoulder. The knights are out of earshot, but he keeps his voice low regardless.

“Will you be able to make it?”

“Not if we keep standing here,” Yuuri mutters.

Viktor makes sure Yuuri is situated comfortably in front of him, then takes hold of the reins again to guide Ludmila along the path into the woods. They go at an easy, steady pace for now, because while the horse may be able to make the trip with ease, galloping the whole way is an unnecessary strain on her and Viktor is _not_ that cruel a man.

Yuuri is slowly coming out of his daze. Viktor can tell with how he begins to sit up straighter, how he turns his head to survey the area, how he starts buzzing with nervous energy and jumps at every little sound. He leans further back against Viktor, breathing in deep, and Viktor steals quick glances down at him then quickly turns his attention back to the trail.

The small journey seems to span for ages. Yuuri is getting much antsier. His breathing has a quiver in it, and he’s started to shiver.

“How far?” He asks suddenly. Viktor slows Ludmila into regular walk so he can safely release the reins with one hand to fish around in his coat for his pocket watch. The sun is getting higher in the sky as the morning goes on, but it’s just a little past nine.

“Another hour, at most.”

A little keening sound bubbles up in Yuuri’s throat. “An _hour--_ ”

“You can hold on that long, can’t you?”

Yuuri’s breathing is ragged. His anxious, distressed energy is clearly affecting Ludmila who, while remaining relatively calm and still obedient, has begun swiveling her ears about. A silent command is given for her to break out into a trot.

“Vik _torrr._ ”

_Gods, don’t say my name like that in a time like this._

A trembling hand latches onto Viktor’s wrist, unbearably tight. Yuuri does his best to keep his breathing steady.

“Just-- talk to me,” Yuuri says weakly.

“About what?”

“Anything. Distract me.”

So he does. The rest of the way there, he talks and talks about whatever comes to mind. Yuuri keeps a tight grip on his wrist with his eyes pinched shut, focusing on Viktor’s voice and heartbeat in his wrist to keep him grounded. Viktor’s noticed the way the white of his eyes is turning a pale yellow, the exposed skin on his arms getting rougher as his body attempts, slowly, to change.

Then he hears the sound of waves, water lapping at the sand, gulls soaring overhead. The smell in the air is tinged with saltiness. Yuuri tenses up further.

They break through the line of trees. “We’re here, Yuuri.”

 

\---

 

_There were so many memories of the ocean. The breeze brought with it the laughter from times long past, when Viktor was only a child, kicking up sand as he chased the tides then ran from them. When he splashed up water with his feet, soaking his clothes and his hair. His soft, shimmering hair down to his shoulders, messy and tangled with the ocean waters, the sand which stuck to his clothes, the salty breeze._

_His mother would take him there often when he was small. His mother as her true self. Not Her Royal Majesty Sofiya Romanovna Nikiforova, but just_ **_Mother. Mama._ ** _His whole world. So beautiful, young and glowing and still soft with youth as she stood there barefoot in the sand with her silver hair untied and whipping past her face in the breeze sweeping across the beach._

_“Vitya,” she would coo, taking his sand-caked hands in her own, rubbing her thumbs over his small knuckles. “Promise to never forget what it means to live and love.”_

_Viktor would never understand, only soft and seven, his whole world still untainted by war and death and everything was so_ amazing.

_“Okay, mama,” he would agree in the way that only a seven-year-old would when they don't really get it but want to seem like they do. Like they're grown and smart and strong._

_And she would laugh, and he would laugh, while the gulls cried overhead._

 

\---

 

“We’re here, Yuuri.”

Oh, he knows. Yuuri knows. The smell of the ocean, the sound of it, is unmistakable. It’s one he recognizes very well. It’s one that makes his stomach twist, his throat tighten, and he stares at the expanse of gray-blue before them. They still stand at the top of a grassy slope, leading down to the bright white sand that then turns into the endless sea. Yuuri just stares, and stares, and stares.

For a moment, the unbearable crawling and itching beneath his skin cease. His mouth is dry.

_You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re free. Viktor is here. He can protect you. You’re safe._

His head hurts.

Then he’s suddenly shoving his glasses into Viktor’s palm, clambering off Ludmila, and stripping free of his clothes as he stumbles down the slope.

“Yuuri--?” Viktor calls. Yuuri doesn’t look back, but he’s sure Viktor is rushing to dismount the horse as well.

The moment he’s kicked his shoes off, everything changes into something so familiar. Fur, talons, fangs, a fire burning in his chest. He trips over his front legs, lurching forward and rolling across the sand. So clumsy after having not been like this for so long! He slides right into the wet sand, where the tide comes up to greet his muzzle and goes right up his nose. Yuuri snorts, rearing his long neck back and scrambling away from the water, his talons leaving deep trenches in the wet sand which are washed away the next time the tide rolls back in.

It feels -- and tastes -- so much different than the water of the springs he grew up beside. Colder, saltier, a stronger hint of fish. Yuuri shivers. He hadn’t tasted it before, not when he was on that boat, not when--

He groans, then flops down in the dry sand on his side, the long length of his body stretched out entirely.

There’s a finger against his flank. Yuuri grumbles, cracking open one eye to see Viktor crouched beside him with curiosity and concern swimming his blue eyes.

“Better?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says without hesitation. All he needs is a little while to lie here and process everything. To get used to the ocean breeze without fearing that he’ll suddenly wake up to find he’s still on that boat, he’s still trapped, and everything with Viktor had been only a dream.

_Ah, but what a wonderful dream it would have been._

“I am going to set up camp. Will you be alright?”

Yuuri hums in response. His eyes fall shut. The sun soaks through his dark fur into his body. It warms him to the core. Without realizing it, he falls into a bone-deep sleep, one he’s desperately needed.

He’s not sure what time it is when he wakes up, he just knows the sun is already moving from its highest point in the sky. And that he smells the ocean. A sense of panic and dread floods through him. Instantly, he’s rolling onto his belly and rising to his feet. There’s no feeling of his antlers scraping the top of a cage, he can stretch out fully, there’s not rocking of a boat. There’s no boat at all. It’s just sand, with the ocean on one side and woods on the other.

It’s… real, and he remembers why he’s here. Yuuri lets himself relax, peering around for any sign of Viktor.

A tent is set up at the top of the grassy slope and Ludmila is tied near a tree, nibbling curiously at the grass. And there is Viktor, crouched in front of the tent, a small pile of wood, twigs, and dry leaves beside him. He’s scraping away the grass. Yuuri heaves out a sigh of relief. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t bound up to Viktor, just moves along the shore with the fur at the end of his tail brushing up sand.

He peers out across the water, then inspects the tide. One step is taken back into the wet sand, further towards the shallows. The tide laps at his feet, the waters now warmed by the sun. Yuuri moves out further, and further until the water is just inches from touching his chest and belly.

It feels strange. At the same time, it’s as if the ocean calls for him and his heart wishes to answer its plea. A natural thing, something ingrained in his mind and his instincts after so many generations before him. The water is a solace, and he welcomes it as easy as it welcomes him.

Eyes flutter shut, he moves further out, then slips beneath the surface. Swimming comes naturally, he moves like a serpent beneath the depths, graceful and smooth. Eyes adjust to the darkness, the only light from the sun filtering in. There’s fish moving around him, pieces of kelp floating along with them. Starfish stuck to the sand below, crabs scuttling along. The floor slopes downward even deeper, but Yuuri dares not travel further. There are many other things more dangerous than a dragon that humanity has not yet discovered, he hopes they never will. Many things that lie even within the ocean. Monstrous beings so huge they would put even the biggest dragon to shame.

Yuuri swims back upward, breaking the surface of the water. Viktor is halfway down the slope when Yuuri reappears and his expression brightens upon seeing him.

The prince doesn’t look very princely in that moment, outside of the elegance and good looks. His coat has been discarded, his dress shirt unbuttoned part way down his chest and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It’s partially untucked from his trousers, which have been rolled up to his knees. His cotton socks have been peeled away, and he’s not wearing shoes. Viktor’s bare feet are covered in sand, and the breeze ruffles up his hair, pushing his bangs from his face then allowing them to fall back again. There’s a faint glimmer of sweat on his neck. That smile is so warm, brighter than the sun.

He’s still so beautiful.

So, so beautiful. Too beautiful for someone like him. Even if Yuuri were a human and they _could_ become _something,_ he still thought himself to look rather plain in the flesh of a human. So he’s making himself get used to the fact they won’t ever be something, not in this life or any other. It’s not possible. He has to learn to accept that.

But it’s so hard when Viktor smiles at him like that.

“Are you having fun, Yuuri?” Viktor asks. Yuuri loves how he says his name. Ears twitch, a happy rumble rising in the dragon’s chest.

“It’s good,” he responds, to which Viktor’s smile widens. It really is good. It’s what he needed. The tension and agitation have seeped from his muscles and bones. “I’m happy.”

“Then I’m happy,” Viktor responds. Warmth spreads through Yuuri’s chest. “You were asleep quite a while, so I set up camp and gathered wood for a fire. I tried to go hunting, I thought you would want more than what I’ve brought, but alas… there’s not much one can do with just a sword.”

“Magic?” Yuuri points out as he makes his way back to the shore, stepping back into the wet sand. Viktor stands just out of reach of the tide where it remains dry.

The prince shrugs. “As terrifically skilled a mage as I may be--” Yuuri snorts, Viktor raises a hand to silence him, “--there’s still many things that could go wrong when using magic to _hunt._ ”

“You’re saying you did not even think of the possibility, then.”

That earns him a flick on the nose. Yuuri jerks his head back.

“Ah, Yuuuuri, you should know better than to sass your teacher!” He rubs his palm through the wet fur of Yuuri’s cheek. Happily, he leans into the touch, eyes falling shut.

“You make it too easy.”

“Yuuri!”

 

\---

 

It takes a lot of pushing to get Yuuri to go to the camp. He wants to stay like this longer, but he knows it will have to come to an end eventually until the next time they can slip out. At least in the morning, he’s sure Viktor will allow him another hour or two before they will have to depart.

He still grumbles in complaint the whole way back to the camp. Viktor moves ahead to keep Ludmila calm as Yuuri approaches. With a sigh, he allows flesh to soften and fur turn to hair. This form is growing more familiar, but Yuuri doesn’t think it’ll ever feel completely _right._ Viktor has his back to him, so before he can turn Yuuri slips into the tent to dig about for clothing. The ones he had discarded earlier, along with his glasses, sit folded neatly on one thick mat. There’s another change of clothes sitting next to it that he picks up.

The black blouse is slid on. He fumbles only a little with the buttons now when he used to be entirely incapable of doing them on his own. After he pulls on undergarments and gray pants, he slips from the tent to find Viktor sitting on a log next to the fire bed, kindling the tiny flame he’s already ignited. Yuuri stands and watches him for a long moment. The line of his arm, his slender wrist and strong hand firmly holding a thin stick to prod at the flame.

Beside him is a pouch filled with the wrapped food. It makes him realize how hungry he really is. Maybe he should have offered to hunt for them both earlier.

Yuuri moves around the fire, sitting down beside Viktor and watching him prod at the fire quietly, tossing twigs and dry leaves then moving on to drop a few thin branches in. The sea breeze makes the fire dance.

Viktor dumps water from a flask onto his hands to rinse them clean, then offers it to Yuuri to do the same. When Yuuri does, he leans over to open the pouch. A few pieces of jerky are offered to Yuuri to gnaw on for now.

“I didn’t think you would be able to handle it,” Viktor says softly, “Being here.”

“I didn’t, either,” Yuuri admits, tearing a piece of the jerky off and chewing it slowly. He stares across the ocean from where they sit. As the sun gets lower in the sky, the summer warmth begins to fade. The fire keeps him warm as the breeze grows chillier.

Their thighs bump together. Viktor looks down, blinks, then chuckles. “Are you still not ready to tell me?” He asks, wrapping a bit of cheese in bread then popping it into his mouth. Yuuri looks at him in confusion. Viktor lifts a brow, swallows, then clarifies, “Why it upset you so much. The ocean.”

Lips form an ‘o’ in realization. Yuuri looks away quickly, rubbing his palms over his thighs anxiously. Viktor offers him bread, which he gratefully accepts and wraps around the jerky. He eats slowly, thinking, and Viktor watches him expectantly for any answer at all.

Yuuri isn’t sure how he would even tell him. It’s hard to even think about, he’s not sure if he’d be able to explain it without falling to pieces right then and there. Tongue swipes out over his lips anxiously.

“I know you wonder how I arrived here,” he begins, “Just… I… it’s not a lie that I was taken from my home against my will.”

He can’t look at Viktor, but he can feel Viktor looking at him.

“It’s hard to talk about. I feel like I… don’t deserve this. This second chance at a life. What do humans call it? ‘Survivor’s guilt’? My family isn’t… dead. At least, I don’t think so. Not all of them. But…”

Yuuri lapses into silence, contemplating on his next words. Apparently, he’s silent far longer than he realizes, because Viktor nudges him with his elbow gently. “But?”

He replies without thinking further, “But I really thought I had nowhere to go. Nothing left. That I was… alone.”

There’s a comforting hand on his knee. Yuuri doesn’t move away from it, just turns his eyes to the ocean. It’s blurred since he left his glasses in the tent.

“You… changed that,” he says quietly, pulling his leg away so he can draw both to his chest. Yuuri wraps his arms around his knees, tucking his chin against them. “Thank you, Viktor.”

A hand settles on the small of his back. Innocent and soothing. Viktor follows Yuuri’s gaze out to the ocean. It’s not the full story, it's missing so many details, but it’s certainly a start. It will take time for each layer around Yuuri’s heart to be gradually peeled away. So long as Viktor remains patient, so long as Viktor remains at his side, then…

“Of course, Yuuri.” A thumb rubs circles into the small of his back. Yuuri lifts his head, glancing back to Viktor again.

The sun is now sinking, day giving way into night. A brilliant glow of orange makes the ocean glimmer. Pinks and golds and reds splattered across the sky like paint on a canvas. Yuuri rises to his feet without thinking, then starts down the slope. Slowly at first, then he glances over his shoulder to give Viktor a wide smile, eyes shining, a silent request.

He breaks into a run, almost tripping in the grass before he can even reach the sand. Behind him, he can hear Viktor following after fast.

“Yuuuuri! Where are you going?” There’s laughter in his voice. “We haven’t finished eating!”

“Later!” Yuuri responds with a laugh of his own, moving with grace on his bare feet across the sand. Viktor gives a petulant whine and Yuuri only laughs louder. When he runs, the ocean air makes his hair fly about wildly. He kicks up sand and Viktor does the same as he moves after him in their playful game of chase.

It makes happiness bubble up in his chest. For now, he can tell himself that this is enough. Even if they won’t be any more than this, than friends, it’s enough. Chasing one another across the beach, laughing and smiling as the sun sets. Almost like they _were_ lovers. He can pretend just this once…

Viktor catches him around the waist and Yuuri cackles as he’s lifted from the ground in an embrace then set back down.

If he were to choose a moment he would want to last forever it would be this one. Where there were no worries, where the was no kingdom, no war between their races, no fear and hatred and anger. Just them. Just Viktor’s arms around him, just the sound of his laughter, the glow of the sinking sun turning the white sand orange.

Yuuri scampers away toward the water. It’s a bit useless for him to roll his pants up, but he does so anyway before he splashes through the tide, kicking up the sand and water, moving further out until it’s almost to his knees.

“Join me, Viktor!” He calls to the prince who stands at the water’s edge as though he’s unsure. What is there to be unsure about? Yuuri is supposed to be the hesitant one, isn’t he? It’s impossible for him to suppress a grin.

Viktor returns the grin, then proceeds to undo the last few buttons of his shirt and toss it aside before following Yuuri out into the water. The dragon doesn’t hesitate to splash water at him with his feet then dance away before Viktor can even react. But Viktor isn’t about to concede defeat, moving after him with no hesitation and bending down fast to scoop up water and throw it right in Yuuri’s face.

 _This must be what happiness is,_ Yuuri thinks. It’s been so long since he remembers feeling this happy, not since he was taken from his home, caged and transported across the very water he now plays in.

He’s drenched now, water dripping from his lashes and the ends of his hair. The blouse sticks to his skin and he was right, rolling his pants up was useless since every bit of them is soaked. But he doesn’t care. It’s hard to care right now, not when happy warmth is spreading throughout his entire being. Not when he feels that this may be the happiest he will be for a long, long time.

Not when Viktor is looking at him like _that_...

Viktor stands before him, the ocean water up to his knees, his pale hair and pale skin drenched and illuminated by the setting sun. There is never a time where he does not look beautiful. If there ever were, Yuuri would think it only happens in instances so rare and fleeting they’re forgotten almost immediately. He looks at Yuuri with an expression that makes his face heat up, blue eyes twinkling like they held all the stars in the sky, his smile so soft and tender.

Yuuri doesn’t think.

He just leans in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“I am looking for friends. What does that mean -- tame?"_
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> _"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."_
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> _"To establish ties?"_
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> _"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world...”_  
>  **― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince**
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> :) anyway
> 
> more art!!!
> 
> an angry dragon yuuri in his human for by NICHOLASonICE on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/NICHOLASonICE/status/859431988146561024)!
> 
> dragon yuuri and prince viktor HUGGING!!! by pleoli on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/pleoli/status/859505508167938049)!
> 
> (p.s. that beach scene was, in fact, inspired by that one part of the ED)
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> as usual, my twitter is [here](http://twitter.com/yuurigif)! i'll post about updates there! you can ask me questions or just talk to me!  
> my tumblr is [here](http://yuuriofficial.tumblr.com), if you would prefer to ask questions anonymously.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Yuuri, where are you?_
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>  _Here,_ comes his distant reply, _Here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeet

Those few moments of comfortable silence seemed to last a lifetime. Yuuri soaked head-to-toe, his trousers and blouse sticking to him, his dark hair gleaming. Viktor just admired him, like he had always admired him, like he had admired him as he ran across the beach painted by the sunset, had splashed him with the ocean water, laughing and smiling. He had admired the curve of Yuuri’s figure beneath the soaked fabric of his clothing sticking to his skin. He had admired the grace in his movements, as he had so quickly and so easily adjusted to this form of a human. Every part of Yuuri he admired and standing here with the water lapping at their legs he wants nothing more than to take Yuuri into his arms.

Yuuri’s staring at him, Viktor’s not sure if he’s imagining the blush on his cheeks or if it’s real. He doesn’t have much time to think about it.

Because Yuuri’s suddenly surging forward.

Because Yuuri’s suddenly kissing him.

Clumsy and uncoordinated but full of determination and a spark of passion. Viktor freezes. Warm lips on his, their noses bumping together, and he’s not sure what to do. He’s kissed plenty of people in the past, but this is different. Even if Yuuri had initiated it, he’s worried about scaring him off if he responds. But he _wants_ this, he wants him. He wants Yuuri in his arms, and only his. He wants Yuuri’s hands on him, he wants to hold him and feel him but his want goes beyond simple physical temptations.

How long has he been waiting for this, falling apart at a shy and clumsy kiss?

He doesn’t think. Yuuri is pulling away with an apology ready, but Viktor is placing his hands on his waist to pull him back in so their bodies fit snugly together. There’s a little gasp of surprise.

“Yuuri,” he breathes barely above a whisper, eyes wide and questioning and curious and _awed_ , “May I--”

_“Yes.”_

Yuuri holds onto Viktor’s shoulders as Viktor takes hold of his face. The press of their lips is careful, gentle, almost tentative. Yuuri falls lax against him, hands sliding up to the sides of his neck and thumbs rubbing along the short silver hair by his ears. He guides Yuuri through the kiss slowly, coaxing Yuuri's lips to part beneath his own. There's a hot tongue there to greet Viktor's own, pressing back against him curiously yet still holding back; unsure. Viktor remains patient. Both hands drop from Yuuri's face down to his waist, then circle around to keep their fronts pressed together.

There's a soft sound from the dragon as Viktor begins to deepen the kiss. Yuuri tastes like the sea, salt water on his lips. He tastes like honey, like the tea he's grown to like. And his mouth is hot - so, so hot, Viktor didn't expect it - and damp, and that surge of _want_ rises in his gut again. Yuuri is kissing back eagerly and, clearly, has no qualms about his inexperience with how he gives experimental licks into Viktor's mouth.

One hand smooths out over the small of Yuuri’s spine, then runs up to between his shoulder blades and then back down. Yuuri's skin is hot beneath his soaked shirt, his hands at Viktor's neck feel as though they could burn.

In the midst of this, he forgets for a moment about those small fangs Yuuri still sports until there’s a faint sting in his bottom lip where Yuuri’s lightly nipped, following by the taste of copper. He draws back, touching his lip then looking at his fingers at the spot of blood. It’s nothing major, Viktor’s gotten worse accidentally biting his own lips, and Yuuri stares at him with wide eyes.

“Sorry, I forgot--”

“It's okay, Yuuri,” Viktor laughs, bringing his lip into his mouth to lick the blood off. It stings just a little bit, most likely more than it usually would due to the salt on his skin.

The sun has almost completely set. There are only faint traces of orange along the navy blue sky, where the waning crescent moon is hardly visible beneath the yawning abyss of the dark skies. Only the stars wink playfully down at them. Yuuri's eyes have a faint glow to them in the nighttime darkness.

“Let's go back,” Viktor says, running the pad of his thumb along Yuuri's bottom lip once then pulling away to wade back to shore. Yuuri remains standing there for a few moments longer until he snaps out of whatever stupor he was in and quickly follows after.

They should talk about this. _That._ What was that? An impulse on Yuuri's part? One that Viktor gladly indulged? He can't forget how Yuuri tasted, how he felt pressed so snugly to him. It was different than how they would fit together upon Ludmila’s back. It was more natural, their bodies leaving no space between each other, their mouths fit together perfectly.

This, all of this, whatever there may be between them; it’s so painfully difficult to work out. Viktor is an analytical man, what others may view as an impulse is, in fact, something he had already examined, thought through ten times over and planned, all within a few seconds.

But whatever _this_ is has veered so off course from what he had expected. Viktor is used to being the one going against the plans of others in favor of his own. Viktor is used to being the one surprising people.

Then Yuuri came along, which was a surprise in itself; an unexpected, strange, yet not an unwelcome change. Now _Yuuri_ is the one who continues to surprise _him._

When he bows to pick up his discarded shirt from the sand he takes notice of how Yuuri pauses at his side, his eyes searching and his body language apprehensive, but for what? Before Viktor can even think to ask Yuuri is trotting across the sand and toward where the fire has begun to dwindle, its glow faint among the darkness.

The sand is shaken from his shirt. He becomes acutely aware of how wet his trousers and undergarments are and how uncomfortably they stick to his skin. Neither of them will be able to properly wash until they return to the palace, they'll arrive carrying the heavy stench of the sea and their hair coarse with salt water and salt stuck to their skin and clothes. Not exactly how a prince is meant to present himself, but the Nikiforovs have never been much of a conventional royal family.

Yuuri pokes at the fire with a stick, tossing a few more small chunks of wood in, and for a moment Viktor merely hangs back to observe him mimic just what he himself had been doing earlier. The fire licks around the wood, its glow brightening and casting across the tiny campsite. Yuuri's eyes still hold a faint glow of their own, brown taking on a molten amber in color that reflects the flames.

Neither of them speaks as they eat just a little more and finish off two water skins. Viktor feels the sting in his lip still, a small reminder of something he knows he won't forget anyway.

“I'm going to sleep,” Yuuri says quietly from beside him. Viktor turns his head to watch him rise to his feet and saunter toward the entrance of the tent. He throws one look back at the prince.

The smile is sheepish, yet sweet. “Good night.” He pulls back the entrance of the tent and slips inside. Viktor watches the tiny slit for a while, can see brief flashes of movement as Yuuri settles himself inside. There’s a clink of metal, a glow of the lantern within following. He listens to Yuuri's soft murmuring to himself, mixed with a jumble of sounds he does not understand.

It is impressive how quickly Yuuri has been adapting to life as a human but is still so distinctly separate from their race in so many aspects. It will always be that way, there's no way to change certain things, but Yuuri is smart. Tenacious, brave, resourceful, and endearingly - _or_ annoyingly, Viktor can never decide - bullheaded.

He's always caught between wanting to scold him, and wanting to kiss him silly.

A smile pulls at one corner of his mouth. It isn't until after the movement within stops within the tent that Viktor rises to his feet with the little pouch of food in hand, using the light from the campfire to guide him towards Ludmila.

He pats her snout apologetically. “I'm sorry for keeping you tied up, Luskya, I hope you don’t hold it against me.”

Ludmila seems happy to forgive him when he digs out an apple from the pouch, her lips tickling his palm is she gobbles the fruit up. Viktor unties her, strokes along the side of her neck a few more times, then makes his way back to the fire.

It's dwindling slowly. Viktor sits there and watches it. He watches it until it's no more than a pile of smoldering ashes and blackened chunks of wood. Then he stands, pulling aside the entrance to the tent and slipping inside.

The lantern still burns in the gap between the two bedrolls, the tiny flame undisturbed encased within glass. Yuuri is already deep in his slumber, the thick blanket pulled over his chest. His soggy clothes are piled in one corner of the tent, leaving him bare beneath the blanket. Viktor worries that he may get too cold. Even if the summers could be hot, the nights still carried a chill.

But Yuuri seems perfectly comfortable, his expression peaceful. Eyelids occasionally twitching, the fingers of one hand curled tightly into the blanket and securing it close to his collarbone, his other arm stretched before him. Lips parted and a tiny speck of drool forming at the corner.

Viktor had been thinking of waking him briefly to tell him good night. Now, he's decided to let him rest.

He follows Yuuri's example and discards his clothing in one corner of the tent, but has enough consideration for Yuuri's so easily-flustered self to pull on a dry pair of underwear. Then he settles onto his own bedroll, tugging the blanket up to his underarms and for a moment wishing Makkachin were here for him to snuggle with as he always did at night.

Barely an arm’s length away Yuuri sleeps with his back to Viktor. The nape of his neck, his shoulders and upper back partially exposed. His side rises and falls as he breathes, blissfully unaware of the world that exists outside of his dreams.

Viktor can't help but reach out, careful of the lantern between them. The backs of his fingers brush over Yuuri's nape. The touch is feather-light, tender, careful. Yuuri's breathing hitches briefly before evening out again. Viktor's smile reaches his eyes.

Only for it to falter when the glow of the lantern catches a raised pale line of raised skin traveling from behind Yuuri’s left ear downward to where Yuuri's hair meets his spine. It's not a scar Viktor's noticed before, he wonders if Yuuri is even aware of it himself. The pad of his thumb runs over the scar. Yuuri shivers.

 

_“I was taken from my home against my will.”_

 

Viktor could have figured as much, but it was strange to hear from Yuuri's own mouth. It was still so little information, but this scar cutting into such a tender part of Yuuri's flesh is perhaps just the smallest evidence of whatever abuse the dragon had suffered.

In that moment he wants to close the gap between them and curl around Yuuri, to draw him close and protect him from the world outside. To protect him from those that only wish him harm.

Instead, he draws his arm back and sits up to open the lantern and extinguish the flame, shrouding them in the nighttime darkness. Viktor can't see Yuuri very well like this, but he can still hear his breathing among the crickets chirping in the woods and the waves lapping at the shore.

It's the sound he falls asleep to.

 

\---

 

It’s still the dead of night when Yuuri wakes up. He blinks slowly in the dark, his eyes doing their best to adjust. The blanket is drawn up to his chin and he noses into the bedroll. Though his eyelids are heavy he’s having a strangely difficult time actually willing himself back to sleep. There’s a dull ache in his belly, and one in the forefront of his skull that makes him dizzy and his ears feel stuffy.

He sits up too quickly because he just falls back down again when lightheadedness and nausea hit him hard. The stench of salt feels so overpowering then. It makes his nostrils sting and itch. It threatens to dig up vivid memories, ones he valiantly fights off because just a few hours prior he had made new, _better_ memories of the ocean. The scent of it, the sound of it, the feel of it. Yuuri turns his head and stares blindly across the small gap between bedrolls to where he knows Viktor now slumbers, the prince’s breathing steady and even. Yuuri rolls onto his side.

A tentative hand reaches out. It’s impossible to stop the quiver in his fingers. They brush against the soft, warm flesh of Viktor’s chest, exposed by the blanket, and beneath the tips he can feel the steady thump, thump, thumping of his heart. Calm compared to the quickening pace of his own. He adjusts himself so it’s easier to smooth his palm out over his chest. Viktor is a heavy sleeper, for that Yuuri is thankful. He wonders what the prince dreams about sometimes. He wonders if there are memories that follow him from the world of wakefulness and mix with his dreams, or maybe they become nightmares?

After all, Viktor is not as cool and put-together as he acts. Yuuri knows that, learned that quickly. He’s a man with worries and fears of his own, a man who sometimes hurts and sometimes cries (though Yuuri has never seen him shed tears). A man who makes plenty of mistakes. A man who had protected him and Yuuri thinks, _Maybe I can protect him in return._

Images of that scar he had seen on Viktor’s skin flash through his head. His brows furrow.

It reminds him that he still doesn’t know much about Viktor, not as much as he likes. The curiosity eats at him, but it isn’t very fair to ask Viktor to spill his secrets if he still hesitates to share his own. It’s better to meet in the middle, to open up gradually.

That kiss… had it been on impulse? Yuuri hadn’t been planning it. It was a spur of the moment sort of thing, but gods if he hadn’t been wanting to do it for quite some time now. Viktor’s lips were soft and his mouth was warm. He had kissed Yuuri back so easily, so gladly, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be kissing him.

But still, doubt plagues him.

Because maybe it had been a mistake to kiss him at all. Maybe Viktor didn’t want him beyond physical intimacy. Maybe he had been curious, and just wanted a taste of what it was like. They’ll still just be friends come morning. Yuuri won’t say a word about it. About the way their mouths fit together, the way Viktor held him like he was something precious, the way his hand ran up his spine almost reverently. Like it wasn’t just sex he wanted, but--

A sharp throb of pain in his head cuts his thoughts off and makes him jerk his hand back. Viktor stirs briefly then falls lax again. Bile rises quickly in his throat. Yuuri kicks the blanket off and stumbles clumsily from the tent, the chill of the night mixed with the sea breeze biting at his naked skin.

He drops to his knees beside the line of trees and vomits.

Tears prick at his eyes. He tries to chase away the burn in his throat with saliva, but to no avail. His mouth tastes awful. His head hurts, why does his head hurt? Why does his skin itch, not with the anxiety of not being able to shift, but like he’s so close to something he’s looking for, that it’s just out of reach and he’s desperate to grasp and hold onto it tight?

A rush of hot air hits the back of his neck. Yuuri makes a strangled sound when he jolts, whipping around to meet the big brown eyes of Viktor’s horse. She huffs again through her nostrils, her breath rushing over his face.

“Ludmila--” Yuuri falters, then tries again, “Luskya?” The horse’s ears twitch. He still doesn’t get why the Seskian humans seem to have multiple names for everything.

 _It’s a respect thing, I think,_ Phichit had told him once when he asked why the Queen, the family’s retainer Yakov, and even Madame Baranovskaya called Viktor _Vitya_ often. _And affection, too._

 _Okay, I understand,_ he had replied. He didn’t really understand.

He also doesn’t understand why Ludmila, who had always been so wary of him, is now approaching him of her own volition.

Cautiously he reaches up to the horse’s muzzle. When she doesn’t pull away he gives her a gentle pat. Ludmila nudges against his cheek, then his shoulder, her lips and the short whiskers of her nose tickling his skin. Yuuri presses his forehead against hers and she just blinks slowly. He takes in a shaky breath, his fingers rubbing through the hairs of her cheek.

They stay like that for a while. Yuuri’s the one to pull away. He stands, shivering at a gust of cool air. The bedroll and blanket in the tent sound so enticing to his tired bones, but instead of slipping back inside he pads past the tent and lets himself shift. The grass feels strange to sleep on now that he had grown so used to human _beds._ It takes him a few minutes to get comfortable, with his long body curled up in a ball and his tail concealing his face.

The taste of bile lingers.

 

\---

 

“Yuuri?” The sound of his name makes him stir. He tries to ignore it, screwing his eyes shut tighter and nosing further beneath his tail. There’s a finger poking at one ear. He grumbles low in his chest, a warning. Viktor doesn’t heed it. “Yuuri!” His voice is a petulant whine.

“Go away,” he grunts sleepily.

“Oh, fine.” The prince huffs. “Not even _Yura_ is this grumpy in the mornings.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes behind their closed lids. When he thinks he has peace for now, when he’s this close to slipping back into a light slumber, there’s an insistent tug on one of his whiskers. Yuuri’s head shoots up, eyes snapping open to meet the bright-eyed gaze of a prince who seems far too chipper in the mornings. And far too pretty, even when he’s dirtied by sand and sea water. There’s a bag cradled in one arm.

“Now that you’re awake--” Yuuri wonders how easy it’d be to kill him. “--I’ll need a bit of assistance.”

“Assistance?” Yuuri grumbles.

“Help me take down the tent,” Viktor clarifies. There’s no use in saying no, not when Viktor smiles at him like that. Yuuri huffs but concedes.

He doesn’t shift to help. Viktor’s already taken everything out of the tent. Yuuri keeps the tent from toppling over onto Viktor by balancing it against his neck while the prince pulls the poles from the ground. The dull ache in his head is slowly returning, but he does his best to ignore it.

Viktor shoos him away finally while he rolls up the tent. Yuuri contemplates sleeping more, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to with a headache that just won’t seem to leave him alone. There’s still the faint taste of bile on his tongue.

All he can really do while Viktor cleans up the campsite is wander along the beach. His tail makes a thick trail behind him in the sand. Every time he tries to look up he has to look down again, for the dizziness makes it impossible to see straight.

“Yuuri!” Viktor calls from atop the slope. “We need to leave. Yakov will be livid if we were to return later than expected.”

No one wants to deal with an angry Yakov. Even though he always seems angry anyway.

Yuuri trudges back up to the campsite. A clean change of clothes with his glasses folded on top is set out on the log for him. While he shifts back into a human, Viktor busies himself in fixing Ludmila’s saddle and hitching the bags to it.

He’s in the middle of pulling the trousers on when his vision blurs and he almost misses catching himself on the log. A hiss passes through his gritted teeth.

There’s a hand on his shoulder then. “Yuuri? Are you alright?”

Concern drips from Viktor’s words. Yuuri inhales sharply. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

With one arm concealing his chest he makes an attempt to stand straight. The world spins. He crumbles, and Viktor catches him before he can hit the ground. The prince is saying something, but every sound just registers as distant noise. He blinks upward and can see the frantic worry in Viktor’s eyes, the look of a man who doesn’t know what to do.

Somehow Viktor gets him into the rest of his clothes, then onto Ludmila’s back where he’s then bundled up in Viktor’s coat. Viktor’s turned him around so he’s facing him rather than facing forward, so Yuuri can tuck his face into his shoulder. His fingers grip tight onto the back of Viktor’s crisp white shirt. The horse is already cantering. Then she breaks into a gallop. Everything feels miles away. Someone is calling to him.

 

_Yuuri, where are you?_

 

 _Here,_ comes his distant reply, _Here._

 

Yuuri blacks out.

 

\---

 

He comes to with a cool rag dabbing at his forehead. Wherever he is, it’s quiet. It smells like tea and flowers, and it’s pleasantly cool. There’s a blanket pulled up to his chest and a bed beneath him, that much he can register about his current situation. He also feels clean, rid of the feeling of salt water and sand, the taste of bile rinsed from his mouth.

The palace. Yuuri’s in the palace. When did he get to the palace? Everything’s a blur, he can’t remember a thing outside of total darkness and a distant voice calling for him.

Eyes blink open and he immediately regrets it. The lamps hanging from the high ceiling, the tiny fairy lights fluttering above, make his head pulse with pain. Yuuri screws his eyes shut again and hears a gentle laugh beside him. The rag moves down to wipe the cold sweat on his neck.

He wants to ask what’s going on, but his mouth is too dry. All he can do is cough and move his hand slowly to his somewhat chapped lips.

“Be careful, or you will pass out again,” his caretaker says to him. Yuuri turns his head and cracks his eyes open. Nurse Petrova smiles at him warmly. An admittedly comely woman with her blonde hair pulled from her face in a bun high on her head. “You’re in the infirmary, love. His Highness carried you all the way here when you both returned. You were unconscious.”

The rag is set aside and she picks up a glass of water from the bedside table. With her other hand, she cradles the back of Yuuri’s head and brings the glass to his lips. “Slowly, or you’ll get sick.”

Small, careful sips are taken of the water. It feels wonderful against his parched throat. A bit dribbles down his chin, but he doesn’t care. When the glass is finally emptied she sets it aside and wipes the water from his chin and throat. Yuuri lies back down slowly. Viktor isn’t in the infirmary with them, that much is obvious, so where is he? He opens his mouth to ask, but as if she read his mind she says, “He was here earlier. He wouldn’t stop hovering and fretting, so I chased him out.”

Yuuri sighs. He keeps his gaze anywhere but the ceiling where he knows the lights will only worsen his headache. Right after he closes his eyes again, there’s a tap on his arm and her hand is under his head again and she’s holding a cup of herbal tea to his lips. Like the water, he drinks it slowly, and he feels the effects almost immediately. It relaxes his limbs, dulls the pain in his head enough that he can open his eyes without feeling too sick.

He stares at her while she dips the rag into a basin of warm water. As alertness slowly comes back to him, his senses don’t feel as muffled as before. Yuuri smells… something. On her. It makes his nostrils twitch. Realization hits him.

Magic. There’s a thin veil of magic surrounding her.

Not just any kind. It’s familiar, like what he would feel in this form, but different at the same time.

Viktor called it something once. _Glamour._ An illusion. A disguise. Taking a face that is not your own.

When the nurse turns back to him to place the rag on his forehead, he finally speaks, “Who are you?”

She tenses up immediately. “What?”

“Who are you?” Yuuri repeats.

She stares at him in surprise, blinking and wide-eyed. “I’m your nurse.”

Frustration builds. He sits up quickly, too quickly, and ends up hunching over with his arms folded over his belly. Yuuri groans miserably.

“I can feel it,” he wheezes, “on you.”

The not-nurse stands up with a huff. “You’re exhausted and delusional, I’ll get you more medicine.”

When she turns to leave Yuuri’s hand lashes out and grips tightly around her wrist. The contact feels like fire, burning hot, and the magic from her prickles up his arm. His hold only tightens and she stares in shock for a few beats. Then her eyes harden, her brows furrow, and her lips pull into a taut, thin line.

Before he can speak again he’s suddenly being shoved down none-too-gently onto the bed, forcing him to relinquish his hold on her. One hand is pinning his wrists above his head, her knees keeping his legs from moving. Yuuri’s brain scrambles to keep up. He writhes beneath her and he thinks of crying out for help, but she slaps her free hand over his mouth.

“In five minutes,” she hisses, “The real Nurse Petrova will be back to check on you.”

Yuuri’s heart hammers in his chest. It’s hard to keep squirming when she has him pinned down like this, and when he’s already so low on energy. He thinks she’s going to kill him, with how she’s giving him a glare sharp as daggers.

“You will not mention me to anyone,” she continues. “I’ll find out, and I’ll be very angry. You don’t want to make me angry.” Yuuri sees now, how her blue eyes turn brown. How the shape of her face rounds out. How blonde hair goes brown. The woman now looming over him looks like she could slit a man’s throat without even flinching. There’s a strong, commanding aura she exudes. But he does not know her, has never seen her before.

When she speaks again, when her voice is her own, his eyes widen. It’s the same voice he heard some nights ago, speaking with Sir Seung-gil alone in the corridor in the dead of night.

“I know what you are,” she hisses. Yuuri whimpers behind her hand. “And I think what you’re doing here is stupid.” Her eyes flicker towards the infirmary door, then back down to him. “You can’t just waltz right into human territory when you don’t have the faintest clue about how we work.”

Yuuri can’t control how he shakes now. She knows what he is, so what does that mean for him? Will she demand something from him, and if he doesn’t do it she’ll tell everyone? Why is she telling him this? Is she only here to tell him this, to scare him? What _does_ she want?

The woman goes silent, a contemplative look on her face. She peers at him searchingly.

“Does he know?”

It takes a moment for him to understand what she’s asking. Slowly, he nods. She curses quietly.

“Stupid. Endangering not only yourself but him, too. If you were found out, if it were revealed he knew all along…”

Yuuri feels sudden anger mixed with fear. He knows the risk that he and Viktor have been taking. He knows the consequences if the truth were to come out. It’s not like he doesn’t think about it every night, wondering if the next day he’ll slip up somehow and end up dead while Viktor is imprisoned.

Beneath her palm his lips part. She obviously knows what he wants to do with how she starts to move her hand, but he’s faster. Yuuri digs his fangs into the flesh of her hand and she bites back a shout of pain. Blood drips onto his tongue, salty and coppery and so unlike his own. The muscle in her hand and her arm fall slack, she doesn’t rip herself away. _Smart._ She knows doing that will only tear at her flesh and make the injury worse than it is.

There’s the sound of movement behind the doors. Yuuri is tempted to keep biting down, to keep her there so she can be caught.

But he also knows if she’s caught, so is he.

They exchange looks. Yuuri releases her hand and she curses again, moving off of him and off of the bed quickly. The nurse’s dress hangs loosely on her. She pulls her hair from the bun, casting him a glance.

“Tell Seung-gil that Minako says ‘hi’.”

Then she’s gone with a snap of her fingers, disappearing into a shadow and leaving him alone in the infirmary. He stares at where she had been standing only moments before, his mouth open in shock.

The infirmary doors open and he’s met with the sight of the real Nurse Petrova with her blonde hair pulled into a bun and her kind, gentle smile that makes her blue eyes glimmer.

Just like he was told, he does not mention _Minako,_ letting the nurse chalk up his frazzled state to a bad dream.

 

\---

 

“Is there anything I can do?” Yuuri doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep again until he’s waking up to Viktor’s worried, pleading voice. The headache has dulled. When he opens his eyes, he doesn’t feel as though he’ll throw up. If there’s anything left for him to throw up, that is. In fact, hunger pangs through his belly.

“You can _start_ by giving him some space,” Nurse Petrova responds, her tone like a mother scolding her child. She’s tiny, Viktor towers over her. The difference in size is almost comical. “He will be fine. He’s only sick, but it will pass. It isn’t as though he is _dying._ ”

“But--”

“With all due respect, Your Highness, you may be the prince, but in here _I_ am the one in charge. I have no issue with chasing you out again.”

Yuuri snorts out a laugh. Both the nurse and Viktor turn their attention to him immediately. The worry on Viktor’s face turns to relief when he meets Yuuri’s tired gaze. He makes to approach the side of the bed, but the nurse swats at him to keep him back and gives him a pointed look. She turns to him and her expression softens immediately.

She helps him sit up then pours some syrupy, foul-smelling medicine into a spoon and holds it to his lips. “It isn’t pleasant, but it will help.”

The taste of the medicine almost makes him gag. Yuuri’s face screws up as he forces himself to swallow and he’s glad that she has a cup of tea ready for him when he’s done, to wash away the taste. He holds it steadily with both hands, the tremors having died down, and sips slowly. A little ways behind the nurse he sees Viktor sulking, casting the both of them concerned and irritated glances every so often.

Her cool hand presses to his forehead and she sighs in relief. “Your fever has gone down. Are you hungry?”

Another hunger pang stabs at his belly. He doesn’t even have to think. “Yes.”

Nurse Petrova nods then speaks without looking back, “Viktor.”

The prince immediately shoots up straight. “Yes?”

“I’m going to the kitchens to get Mister Katsuki something to eat. Will you watch over him?” The answer is obvious. She gives Yuuri a knowing smile.

“Of course!” He responds maybe a little too eagerly. The moment she’s stepping away from the bed Viktor is dragging a wooden chair from an adjacent, empty bed up to the side of Yuuri’s and plopping down, finding one of Yuuri’s hands to hold with both of his. The prince glances over his shoulder to make sure the nurse is gone, then looks back at Yuuri.

Yuuri gives a little, tired smile. “She chased you out before?” So that’s something that Minako wasn’t lying about. She must have watched the infirmary for a while before slipping in herself.

_Minako…_

Who is she, what is she going to do, is he not allowed to tell Viktor about her either?

The prince chuckles, squeezing Yuuri’s hand. “Maybe I _was_ being a bit of a nuisance…” Both of his thumbs rub over Yuuri’s knuckles. Viktor searches his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Do you want the honest answer?”

“Yes.”

“Like horse shit.”

That makes Viktor bark out a laugh. “Ah, how eloquent, you have such a way with words, Yuuri! Men and women from every realm will be swooning at your feet.”

“Not that I would want them,” Yuuri replies without even thinking. Teeth click when he clamps his mouth shut tight, heat flooding up his neck and to his cheeks. He looks away, knowing the blush will be far too obvious against his skin currently pale with sickness.

Viktor remains silent beside him, continues stroking his knuckles with the pads of his thumbs.

“What happened, Yuuri?” The lump in his throat is too big to swallow past. Yuuri focuses on the ceiling, on the blue fairy lights fluttering around the lamps, just appearing as small blurs mixing in with the yellow glow due to his weak eyesight. The hand held within Viktor’s own twitches. It turns, locks their fingers together tight. Still, he stays silent, leaving the question unanswered while he squints up at the ceiling.

Viktor’s now-free hand brushes against Yuuri’s jaw. He can’t help but tilt his head into the contact, sighing at the feel of warm skin. Their joined hands squeeze tight with no intention of breaking away.

“I won’t know what’s wrong if you don’t tell me,” the prince tries again. The lump finally goes down, but his chest is tight now. Yuuri knows that’s true, that Viktor will have zero ideas on what’s going on and what to do if Yuuri doesn’t tell him anything. But that’s just it, he doesn’t know _how_ to explain. The sudden sickness, a voice in his head that sounded too familiar but too far away for him to really be sure. The woman that had accosted him right here in the infirmary.

“It’s not-- your fault,” he says quietly. “I don’t know either.”

Everything feels like too much. Yuuri manages to turn his head, to meet Viktor’s gaze. The prince presses his thumb to the corner of Yuuri’s mouth.

“Yuuri…” his voice goes low, he looks around the infirmary, then leans in closer, “Do you regret it? Being here?”

He stares at Viktor in surprise. There’s worry clear in Viktor’s eyes, worry and another emotion that Yuuri thinks may be… fear? What would he be fearful of? Yuuri leaving? Yuuri hating being here, hating that he went along with his idea to come here in the first place.

“No,” Yuuri answers firmly. Teeth chew absently at the inside of his cheek. “Do you regret it, having me here? I’ve been nothing but a burden, I’m sure.” He laughs weakly.

But Viktor doesn’t find humor in it. Yuuri’s laugh trails off at the hard look in Viktor’s eyes, the way the muscles in his face have tensed and his jaw has clenched. The air feels chillier now, the man before him going from warm to glacial in an instant. A silent storm brewing within him, behind the bright blue of his eyes.

“Have more faith in me, Yuuri,” he finally says. The dragon looks away, his face drawn. Viktor carefully turns his face back to him, fingers firm but gentle against his jaw. Their eyes meet. “Please. You are anything but a burden to me.”

Guilt twists in his gut. “Still--”

“Yuuri, please.” His palm rests against Yuuri’s cheek. “Believe me.”

 _I want to,_ he thinks. Oh, how he wants to believe him even if his irrational brain tells him he shouldn’t, because how could _anything_ good last for Yuuri? Happiness comes but is ripped away easily. He learned that a very hard, very painful way.

“What do you want from me, Yuuri?” Viktor’s voice sounds odd. It’s careful and questioning, but there’s a nervous edge to it. “Should I go?”

“No!” Yuuri blurts without hesitation, too loud. “Ah! Don’t! You--” He squeezes his hand. “I want-- I want you here. Stay here. By my side. Please. That’s all I ever really want. Not just-- _here._ I mean... even...” He shuts himself up quickly.

The hard look on Viktor’s face softens. The ice is gone from his gaze. He smiles. “Oh, _solnyshko, zolotse, milyj,_ **_Yuuri._ ** All you need do is ask.”

“Fine. Then… stay by my side.” Yuuri scrunches his nose up, letting the tension slip from his muscles and a smile draw at his lips.

“I said _ask,_ not _demand,”_ Viktor laughs. He’s leaning closer. Their noses bump.

“ _Please_ stay by my side,” Yuuri snickers. He feels Viktor’s warm breath mingling with his own.

“Your wish is my command,” comes the low, warm reply.

They pause with their lips a mere inch apart. Yuuri turns his gaze down to Viktor’s where he sees the faint red mark in his lower lip where Yuuri had gotten, perhaps, a bit too enthusiastic. Then he looks back up to Viktor’s eyes and smiles shyly. _Let me have this, if only for now._

Their lips meet gently, sweetly. They move together slowly, Viktor letting Yuuri get used to the feel of it. His lips are so soft and warm, Yuuri can’t help but press in further. Yuuri leaning forward over the side of the bed, Viktor meeting him with his hands gently holding his neck. They swap kisses and more than once does Yuuri consider throwing all effort to be chaste to the wind. But they’re in the infirmary, and Nurse Petrova should be back any time now, and he is starting to get a bit dizzy again. His belly rumbles, they laugh into each other’s mouths.

Someone clears their throat. Instantly they break away, Yuuri meeting the nurse’s gaze over Viktor’s shoulder. His pale skin flushes red. Viktor coughs into his fist, doing his best to hide his smile but failing spectacularly. Nurse Petrova, holding a tray of food, steps between him and Yuuri and places the tray down in the dragon’s lap. The meal is relatively plain, but he guesses that’s what’s best for his current state, since he _really_ doesn’t want to vomit again.

While Yuuri slowly eats, he watches from the corner of his eye as the nurse turns to Viktor.

“Her Majesty is looking for you,” she says. Viktor glances up then peers around her at Yuuri, who nods quietly. She huffs, “Don’t worry, you can come back later.” The prince sighs and rises to his feet, running a hand through his hair before he makes his way towards the doors. Once, he pauses and looks back, unsure, until Nurse Petrova ends up literally chasing him out, scuttling after him and making shooing motions and Yuuri has a hard time not choking on his food through his laughter.

The nurse sits in the chair that Viktor abandoned and sighs fondly. “Really, he acts like he’s going to _die_ if he’s more than three feet from you.”

Yuuri smiles sheepishly. She murmurs something else he can’t quite catch, then begins preparing another pot of tea for him.

 

\---

 

Queen Sofiya Romanovna Nikiforova is not an easy woman to anger. So when Viktor arrives at his mother’s chambers and catches her steely, guarded expression, dread pools low in his gut. Either he is in some sort of trouble, or something very bad has cropped up. Neither possibilities are good, but he feels that the former is much more preferable. He can handle getting chewed out by his mother, even at twenty-seven.

The fact Yakov stands at her side only makes him even more concerned. His face is severe, it always is, but there’s something else in it. Not just anger, but worry. Even if the retainer grew impatient with him often, even if he had a temper, Viktor knew just how much he _worried._ For Viktor, for the Queen, ever since the King died--

His mother rises from the plush, high-backed chair she had been sitting in the moment the doors close behind him. He gives a respectful bow, because, mother or not, she is still the Queen.

“Enough of that,” she says, and Viktor stands right back up. He watches her move across the room with practiced grace, and even with the dark look on her face, she is beautiful just as everyone says. They would all joke about how Viktor looked and acted just like his mother, about how it seemed as though he had no ounce of his father in him except for his, admittedly, wide forehead.

Her blue dress drags across the floor and she tugs her hair from where it rests in a braid over her shoulder. It falls in silver waves down her back. “Sit, Viktor.”

It must be bad if she’s calling him _that._

He sits in a chair opposite of the one she had previously been in. “What is it?” He asks warily. Sofiya doesn’t answer, keeping her back to him and tugging at a lock of her hair. Her body is tense.

Yakov is the one to speak for her when she remains silent, “You’re not to be wandering the grounds during the evenings on your own anymore.”

Viktor looks towards the Queen, then back to his retainer. The tone of his voice is incredulous, “Why? What is the issue?”

“Numerous guards have spotted an intruder leaving the palace, but were not able to identify or catch them,” Sofiya finally says. “No one knows how they got inside in the first place, so we think they either had help or they’re _very_ good with their magic.”

And with that, coupled with the rumors of a known and dangerous criminal being seen in the area, it’s no wonder his mother looks so ragged and worn.

“They were spotted leaving the north wing,” Yakov continues for her. _Where the infirmary is._ That bit hangs unspoken between the three of them. No doubt the Queen and Yakov both know about Yuuri’s current state. “As of now, you’re forbidden from being there. Do you understand?”

Even if Yakov always tries to make no room for argument, Viktor finds a way.

“And I suppose Yuuri won’t be notified? I supposed he’ll be left all alone during the night while he recovers?”

“Your student, that _boy,_ will be perfectly fine without you hovering. You -- and your mother -- are the biggest targets.”

“That _boy_ has a name, and he is still at risk as I’ve taken him on as my pupil,” and much more, apparently. “I’d like for his safety to be ensured.”

“We are _not_ wasting guards to--”

“Then I’ll be there,” Viktor says defiantly, standing up again.

“Didn’t I just say--”

“I am a grown man and quite capable of fending for myself. How long do you insist on treating me like a child, Yakov?”

Something in the air snaps.

“I will continue treating you like a child until you stop _acting_ like one! Do you want to end up like your father?” Yakov practically roars. “Found dead in his own study with a knife in his throat? All because he was too _careless,_ because he didn’t listen--”

 **“That is** **_enough!”_ **

They both shut up instantly. The room feels winter-cold. Sofiya is now facing them with fury flashing through her eyes and twisting her face into an ugly, fierce expression. Stress makes her look so much older than she really is, with her skin paled and faint purple shadows beneath her eyes. How long has she been fretting over something like this?

“Mother--” He shuts up when she raises her hand to him.

“Yakov, you’re dismissed. I want double the amount of guards in all four gatehouses. Take care of it.”

The man gives a deep bow. “Yes, Your Majesty.” The look he gives Viktor when he passes by is lethal. Viktor meets it with a defiant glare, but he can’t stop his hands from trembling and his throat from tightening.

Yakov means well, Yakov _cares._ Viktor knows that. That’s why he was so angry. He was like a father to his mother, like a father to _him._ He had seen how the King’s death affected them both, and damn if he would let something like that happen again. Viktor can't bring himself to stay angry for too long.

When they’re alone, Sofiya crumbles into her son’s arms.

“Please, Vitya,” she whispers into his shoulder, “Listen, just this once.”

He holds her upright, arms tight around her, and she feels so very small against him then. Her shoulders shake and he feels the fabric of his shirt dampen from her tears. Viktor swallows thickly. Even though she’s his own mother, he’s still at a loss for what to do here. He doesn’t want to say something that will make it worse. So he just rubs her back slowly, lets the strongest woman he knows fall apart against him.

“Don’t let me lose you, too,” she pleads quietly. “Please, please, _solnyshko._ My little sun. My Vitya. I’ve already almost lost you once.”

Viktor’s heart aches. That years-old scar suddenly stings. He holds her tighter. “Okay, mama.”

“He will be safe, I promise,” she continues, “Just focus on yourself until we figure out what is going on.”

Gods, he can’t bear the thought of upsetting her further, he can’t think of defying her here and now. Not when she’s like this, not when her fears aren’t unfounded.

“I promise, mama.”

“Thank you,” she rasps into his shirt. They stay like that until she has the strength to pull away from him, wiping her eyes and giving him a wan smile. “I’d rather you remain in your chambers the rest of the evening. It will give me some peace of mind. Supper will be sent up.”

Viktor sighs, but he smiles in return. A kiss is planted to his mother’s forehead. “Alright. Please rest, mama. You need it.”

“I will, Vitya. I will.” She tugs him down enough that she can sweep his bangs aside and kiss his forehead as well.

When he leaves, it’s with a thick and tepid feeling of dread clenching around his heart that persists through the rest of the evening. He wanted to visit Yuuri again after meeting with his mother but after all of _that…_ he can’t, and he feels terrible that Yuuri won’t know why, and that he can’t go and _tell_ him why lest he should face Yakov’s fury-- or worse, his mother’s. Sleep won’t come to him. The balcony doors are shut tight, the curtains are drawn over them, and a guard posted right outside his chamber doors. Makkachin curls up at the foot of the bed, and Viktor closes his eyes with the hope that sleep will eventually come to him.

It doesn’t.

 

\---

 

When Viktor doesn’t return, fear sets in. It’s long past suppertime, Yuuri’s nausea has faded and his headache has been reduced to just the occasional throb in the back of his skull thanks to supper and the light meal he had before. But the anxiety threatens to make him throw up his meal all over the floor.

He turns onto his side. Every tiny sound in the dark infirmary makes him jump, like he’s expecting that Minako woman to appear again from the darkness. He still doesn’t know what to make of her, or their encounter, or what she wants. Yuuri desperately wants to tell Viktor, he wants to tell Viktor about Seung-gil and about the woman and that he’s so _confused._ At the same time, he knows he can’t, because Viktor won’t rest until he gets to the bottom of it, and that’s added stress, and he doesn’t want Viktor wrapped up in it more than he already (unknowingly) is.

It’s dead silent in the infirmary save for his breathing. There are no other patients there besides him right now, leaving him alone in a room far too giant and far too dark. Yuuri curls up beneath the blanket, feeling suffocated despite the space around him. He screws his eyes shut.

 

_Yuuri._

 

There it is again, the first time since this morning. A voice he knows he’s heard before but can’t place a name on, still too muffled and too distant. _Yuuri, please, tell me where you are._

He blinks his eyes open.

 _I’m here._ Is it any use responding to something that’s most likely nothing but a hallucination? Yuuri buries his face into the pillow.

 

_Where is ‘here’?_

 

 _Here is…_ He trails off as his mind blanks for a moment. It all goes dead silent before he can finish, the other voice fading away as quickly as it came.

Yuuri can’t stand this.

He curses as he kicks away the blanket and clambers from the bed. His glasses so kindly brought to him by a servant boy are picked up from the bedside and set on his face. The only light in the dark room comes from the sliver of moonlight shining through the high windows, and the fairy lights still floating around near the ceiling. It’s not much to guide him, he trips more than once, but it doesn’t weaken his resolve. Yuuri pushes the doors out into the corridor open with his shoulder, finding the lights dimmed and everything eerily quiet. He shivers, not from cold but from a sudden sense of dread. The white cotton night shirt they changed him into in the infirmary is tugged over his knees.

This is the north wing if he remembers right. Viktor’s chambers are in the west. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find his way, not all of the palace at night is pitch black. The corridors, at least, have light for any guards patrolling the grounds. And for the past week, Yuuri’s taken notice to how much more there are posted throughout. It makes him nervous. He hopes he can make it to his destination without being spotted and questioned, he doesn’t know how he’d explain himself, and he’s sure he’d be sent back to the infirmary regardless.

Eyes adjust to the dim glow the lamps cast over the corridors, and the glasses make it much easier than it would have been without. Yuuri keeps his guard up, listening for any distant footsteps or voices, nostrils twitching for any scent drifting his way. Even like this, in this body of a human, his senses remain heightened.

He peeks around a corner, looking both ways then turning down the next corridor. The vestibule between the north wing out into one of the many courtyards is quiet as well, his feet pit-patting against the parquet floors.

There’s the tell-tale sound of someone approaching then, footsteps coming closer and closer. Yuuri startles, scrambling for any sort of cover, finding that the only thing available is behind one of the large statues of a gryphon on either side of the exit. He crouches down and waits, occasionally peeking around.

Oh.

The other Yuri -- Viktor calls him Yura, or Yuratchka -- stands barefooted in the middle of the vestibule. His green eyes, normally so fierce, are softened by sleep. His gaze cuts across the room then lands right on the statue. Yuuri screws his eyes shut and holds his breath.

It’s a surprise he doesn’t scream when there’s suddenly a finger prodding at his arm, but he does snap his eyes open and leap to his feet. Yura stands there, blinking tiredly up at him, and Yuuri has absolutely no clue what to do. As far as he’s concerned, the boy hates him, can’t _stand_ him for some reason Yuuri can’t fathom.

Also, why is _he_ wandering around the palace this late? It has to be past midnight. Well, he’s probably wondering the same about Yuuri. Those green eyes take on a sharpened edge again when he gives Yuuri a once-over, then meets his gaze and sniffs. It isn’t derisive, just a little… annoyed.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sick?” He finally says, his voice suspicious but not accusatory.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” Yuuri shoots back without missing a beat.

Yura, to his surprise, doesn’t make much of an effort to fight back, most likely too tired to do so. He blows a lock of blonde hair from his face. “I’m hungry. I’m going to the kitchen.”

That almost makes him laugh. It would have, were he not trying to keep his voice down just in case the noise would attract nearby guards. It’s a little endearing, he thinks, the cranky boy wandering the palace in the middle of the night to get a snack.

“You’re going to see him,” the boy states. It’s not a question. Is it really that obvious? Yuuri feels the skin of his neck heat up. “There’s a lot of guards lately. I’m not supposed to be out of my room without an escort lately.”

Yura scratches idly at an itch on his cheek. “Dunno why.”

Yuuri blinks at him, then looks around anxiously. If they keep standing here, they’ll both be caught, and that won’t end well for either of them. Yura huffs, suddenly grabbing the dragon’s wrist and dragging him out of hiding. Yuuri stumbles, surprised by the strength this young, willowy boy harbors.

(He shouldn’t be, the first day they met Yura ended up sending him sprawling onto his belly with a hard kick to the back.)

It’s impossible to break free of his grip. Yura is pulling him toward the corner of the vestibule, free hand patting around the surface of the wall before catching on something. A tiny little notch that would go unnoticed if you didn’t know it was there. He gives it a tug, revealing a small doorway with stairs leading down. Yuuri stares at it, then back at the boy.

“What--”

“You’re going to get caught going the way you are now.” The hand on his wrist falls away. “These passageways are for the servants to get around faster. Guards don’t really go down here. You can’t get into them unless you’re in the palace first, anyway.”

Yuuri peers back at him. “Why…”

“Just go,” Yura bristles, giving Yuuri a shove. There’s an embarrassed blush on his cheeks, or maybe that’s just Yuuri imagining things. “Turn right at the first corner. You’ll find a staircase leading into the west wing. Even if you don’t get caught, you probably won’t get past the guard that’ll be outside his door…”

A guard outside of Viktor’s door? That’s new. Before, they seemed rather lax with their security.

His thoughts flit back to that woman from before. The timing… he feels it’s more than coincidental.

“Thank you,” Yuuri says. The boy grumbles, looking away, and when Yuuri begins making his way down the staircase he hears the door thud shut behind him.

The passages are empty but brighter than the main corridors. He makes his way through them quickly, takes the first right turn and keeps his eyes open for the stairway which he eventually finds after a few minutes of walking.

Carefully, he pushes open the door and finds himself in a parlor room. He tip-toes across the carpets and slips out into the corridor, rushing down to the staircase at the far end leading to the second floor where Viktor’s chambers are.

Any little sound makes him freeze up. There are no guards to be seen yet, but he can hear them nearby. It’s what wills him to move again, practically bolting, then skidding to a halt when he sees the lone figure outside of the chamber doors.

Lady Mila looks _bored._ She’s leaning against the wall beside the doors, her gaze on the wall across from her. Well, he imagines it would be boring, just standing there for gods know how long. Yuuri worries his bottom lip. It’s possible that she would let him in. They haven’t spoken much, but he knows she’s close to the prince, she’s _trusted._ And just because she has a pretty face doesn’t mean she should be underestimated, for she is one of Seskia’s best knights despite only being eighteen. In fact, she’s the one knight he’s seen accompanying Viktor the most. For someone of her caliber, guard duty seems far below her, but her close connection to the prince may be why she’s posted outside of his chambers tonight.

There’s no real reason why she wouldn’t let him in, right? It’s not like he poses any real threat. Outside of being a dragon, that is. Not like she knows that. Hopefully. After Minako, after knowing her connection to Seung-gil, he has to wonder how many knights are to really be trusted, but he doesn’t think that Mila would be one that would willingly work behind the royal family’s back.

It’s worth a shot.

“Eh?” Mila turns her head and stands straight and ready with her hand on the sword at her hip when Yuuri is close enough for her to really notice. “Who's th-- oh, Yuuri. Hi.”

“Er-- hi,” he responds awkwardly.

She pushes off of the wall, covering her yawn with her hand. Then she looks at him, then the door, then back to him. A smile curls at her lips. One hand pushes her crimson hair from her face while she looks him over. A little laugh bubbles up in her throat.

“Wow, you really got past all the guards to get here. While you’re sick, too. _That’s_ determination.”

Yuuri rubs the back of his neck, “I had help.”

“Mmhm.” Mila doesn’t ask, but he feels like she has a good idea of who that ‘help’ was. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure Viktor could use the company.”

There’s definitely some underlying meaning to her words, but Yuuri ignores it.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime,” she responds. Then, to herself, she mutters, _“Guard duty._ I wonder if next time Her Majesty will let me bring cards.”

Yuuri pushes one door open enough to slip inside. When it shuts behind him, he sees the figure in the bed shoot up. The air crackles with sudden tension, and Yuuri remains rooted to the spot. Makkachin growls low.

“Who is it?” Viktor hisses through the darkness, his words dripping with suspicion and a fierceness that Yuuri doesn’t think he’s ever heard from the prince before. It makes him shiver.

But he manages to find his voice and reply, “It’s me.”

Just like that, the tension is gone. “Yuuri?” The room is lit up when Viktor reaches over and turns the lamp at his bedside on. Yuuri examines him from where he stands, notices just how tired he looks with faint shadows beneath his eyes, his hair a mess like he’s been tossing and turning for hours now.

“Did I wake you--”

“No! No, um, I haven’t slept a wink, actually,” Viktor admits. His hand falls onto Makkachin’s neck, rubbing through the dog’s brown curls. The poodle’s tail thumps against the bed as he watches Yuuri, head on his front paws. “Did Mila let you in?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, padding towards the bed, pulling his glasses off and setting them on the bedside table.

“You came all the way from the infirmary?”

“I did,” he replies, kneeling on the edge of the bed.

“Yuuuuri…” Viktor leans over with a tired smile, catching Yuuri by the elbow and pulling him fully onto the bed. “Stealing away in the dead of night to see the prince, are you? It’s like one of those cheap intrigue novels I’ve seen sold in the city.”

Yuuri hums happily, making his way towards the other side of the bed when he feels another tug on his arm. He turns his head to meet Viktor’s eyes, and the prince’s smile widens. Heat floods Yuuri’s cheeks, but he can’t tear his eyes away. So he does something very bold, or very stupid. Boldness often goes hand-in-hand with stupidity, anyway. Viktor’s breath hitches in surprise when Yuuri is suddenly settling right into his lap, pressing their foreheads together.

“I was worried,” the dragon says. “You didn’t come back.”

Warm hands settle on his waist. Viktor smiles apologetically, giving his waist a little squeeze. “I’m sorry, something came up.”

Yuuri runs his thumbs over Viktor’s jaw. The prince’s eyes flutter shut and he gives a happy sigh.

“Does it have anything to do with the guards everywhere?” He asks quietly. Viktor blinks his eyes open. They’re so very blue, and up close Yuuri can see the hint of green mixed in. His hands slide down to Viktor’s neck. Viktor tugs him closer. It feels _right,_ but at the same time, Yuuri doubts what this may actually mean for the two of them. If he falls too deep, then it will hurt even more when Viktor eventually gets bored of him, but he won’t forgive himself if he doesn’t at least try.

“Unfortunately,” Viktor murmurs. “Yuuri… please don’t wander around on your own after dark. For your own safety.”

Brows furrow. “My own safety?”

“The guards spotted an intruder leaving the palace earlier.” Yuuri hopes Viktor doesn’t notice how his breath catches in his throat. “We’ve already been on high alert, but…” Viktor runs his hands down to Yuuri’s hips. “I don’t want any harm coming to you.”

“I’m not helpless,” Yuuri says immediately. It’s true but in the face of that woman… he felt powerless. It has to be her, that intruder they spotted. It has to be. And they were already on high alert? For what? Is something _else_ going on? It feels like there are many things he’s not being told.

Viktor sighs, “I know, but… I would feel much better if I knew you were safe.”

 _I’m not,_ Yuuri thinks. _She’s after me._

“Fine,” he mumbles. Viktor relaxes beneath him.

“Thank you, Yuuri.” Their noses brush together. Viktor tilts his head expectantly.

Yuuri almost indulges him, but something stops him. His hands press against his chest and he breathes out, “W-wait.”

The prince draws back, blinking in confusion and concern. The thumbs rubbing slow circles into Yuuri’s hips are a little distracting. Yuuri flounders momentarily, because whatever he had been planning to say suddenly escapes him. Viktor’s brows raise questioningly. Yuuri takes a shaky breath.

“What is… this?” He gestures to them both, then touches his finger to Viktor’s lips, then to his own. “Us?”

Viktor’s lips twitch. “We can be whatever you want us to be.”

A frustrated whine leaves him. “I want to know what you want. Not-- not going along with my own wishes just for the-- the sake of making me _happy.”_

Beneath him, Viktor shifts around. Yuuri leans back to get a better look at him. Viktor raises one hand and runs his index finger over Yuuri’s ear, then down his jaw. He looks at Yuuri like he’s the sun and moon and stars and Yuuri doesn’t really understand why, but it makes his heart beat ten times faster.

“It’s not like… I’m… Viktor, I’m not _human._ There’s… so many differences and there’s so much that could go wrong. And I… you…” Yuuri looks away, hands curling into the front of his nightshirt. “I know what they say about you.”

“And what do they say?” Viktor asks, but Yuuri knows that Viktor is well-aware of what that answer will be. He answers anyway.

“That you-- you’ve… broken many hearts.” He swallows the thick lump in his throat down painfully. “That it never lasts long with you. You get bored, and you move on. And who am _I_ to compare to every pretty human that you may come across? I couldn’t take it, only having this for a short period of time, until you move on.”

There’s a tremble in his bottom lip. “Dragons, we… we mate for life, you know. If you were to move on, I wouldn’t find another. I don’t want to force you into that. To tie you down. You’re a _prince,_  a _human_ prince, you’re supposed to take the throne, get married, have children. I would interfere with that. Your duty to your kingdom comes before me.”

Viktor remains silent and Yuuri is scared he won’t respond at all. He had just been watching Yuuri as he spoke, taking in every word.

“Yuuri,” Viktor finally says, “Haven’t I already told you I would stay by your side?”

“You--”

“People love to talk, you know. You break one heart, and they say you’ve broken one hundred.” The prince shakes his head. “I don’t get _bored._ I-- I leave because they don’t want _Viktor._ They want _Crown Prince Nikiforov.”_

Yuuri listens in total silence, lips parted and eyes widened. “Certainly, I have… shared a bed with plenty, but only for one night. It was never meant to be anything more, with them. I can’t say I’m proud of it.”

All the dragon can focus on is the sound of Viktor’s voice, the way his tone shifts into something sad. Disappointed with himself. Yuuri reaches up to hold his face. Viktor rests his hand over one of Yuuri’s.

“You, though…” Lips press gently to Yuuri’s wrist. “I’ve never wanted someone more.”

“Still, I’m--”

“A dragon, I know. It’s dangerous. _I know._ But for you, I’ll do anything.”

The corners of his eyes sting. Yuuri thinks about protesting, but pushes the urge aside. Instead, he leans in and Viktor meets him halfway, the kiss slow and careful. It’s full of doubt at first, at least from Yuuri’s end. Lips testing, shy, but Viktor is patient and gentle and moves against his lips easily. Doubt slowly slips away. Viktor’s hands find his waist again and Yuuri rubs his fingers over the nape of his neck.

They just kiss, sweet and slow, illuminated by the lamp light. And for now they can forget their worries.

Finally, they break apart, but Viktor keeps their foreheads pressed together. He smiles at Yuuri, a smile reserved only for him. And he wonders how after so much pain, he’s grown so lucky. Viktor speaks, quiet and careful, and asks a question they both know the answer to.

“Please, tell me… will you be mine?”

_Yes, yes, yes._

“I already am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slow burn? idk her
> 
> so i'm going to be visiting my dad next month from the 2nd to the 17th. i'll still have my laptop and internet then, but i don't get to visit him often so i'll be spending more time with him. i'll probably get SOME writing done, but i don't know how much.
> 
> thank you to everyone who's bookmarked, commented, left kudos, etc! i really really appreciate it, you all keep me going ;_;
> 
> there's more art for this fic!
> 
> a sweet picture by fcd2c7 on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/fcd2c7/status/864673215859367936)!!
> 
> a cute doodle by émile, or MILFTANKS on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/MILFTANKS/status/867562696979427328)!!
> 
> (if you draw fanart, make sure to @ me in it on twitter or tumblr!)
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> as usual, my twitter is [here](http://twitter.com/yuurigif)! i'll post about updates there! you can ask me questions or just talk to me!  
> my tumblr is [here](http://yuuriofficial.tumblr.com), if you would prefer to ask questions anonymously.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yuuri, you’re pouting!” Viktor sounds absolutely _delighted._  
>  “I’m _not_ pouting.” Okay, maybe he is pouting a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a lot longer than the others. i'm not... too happy with how it came out, but. whatever.
> 
>  **THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT.** the beginning and end of said scene will be marked with asterisks ( * ) so you can skip over it if you want.

“Viktor Mikhailovich Nikiforov, if you do not begin to take this seriously, I will find Sir Katsuki another dance partner, do you understand?” There’s a light swat to the small of his back, not hard enough to hurt and not with the intent to hurt in the first place, but it makes Viktor stand up straight and pull his head back. Madame Lilia Baranovskaya circles around the two, taking a firm hold of the blushing Yuuri’s wrist and adjusting it over Viktor’s shoulder, then fixing the position of Viktor’s hand (that had been casually slipping lower down Yuuri’s back) to between Yuuri’s shoulder blades. She is none-too-gentle about it, always having been a stern and merciless instructor, but she was not the former top ballerina and current director of the Yarkaya Ballet, and the palace’s dance instructor for no reason.

Honestly, he had been expecting Yuuri to be terrified of her. At first, he _had_ been intimidated, which came as no surprise as Viktor does not think there is anyone that isn’t at least a _little_ intimidated by the woman, but adjusted quickly to her cutting words and no-nonsense personality. Viktor would have feared for her sanity, as he knows from personal experience that Yuuri can be a _very_ difficult student, had he not known she’s had her fair share of difficult students.

And they were always nothing less than _perfect_ when she was finished with them.

“He will have everything mastered by the New Year's Ball, I will accept nothing else. Waltz, mazurka, redowa, polonaise… that is if he is willing to learn.” She throws Yuuri a pointed look. Yuuri grins sheepishly.

“The New Year's Ball is in _four months,”_ Viktor points out.

“That is more than enough time to become flawless.” Lilia’s eyes narrow. “If you are so worried, do we need to start you with the basics again, _Vitya?_ ”

A poorly muffled snort comes from across the ballroom (otherwise vacant save for hours set aside dedicated to practice), where Yura is currently striking a graceful arabesque pose, with one hand slapping over his mouth when Lilia turns her focus to him. If there is one person that can keep Yura tame, it is her. Which is impressive. She strides towards the boy and Viktor feels the tension in his shoulders fall. At least, for now, he’s spared from her sharp tongue, but he does feel a pang of sympathy for the boy now being berated for his apparently _sloppy_ pose.

Yuuri drops his head to Viktor’s shoulder, muffling his laugh into the fabric of his shirt. Their entwined hands held to the side fall, but don’t relinquish their grip, and Viktor watches Lilia from the corner of his eye before he slides his arm around Yuuri’s waist and squishes him close.

“You deserved that,” Yuuri says quietly, loud enough only for Viktor’s ears. Hopefully. Sometimes it feels like Lilia can see and hear anything.

Truthfully, he probably did. Yuuri needed the dance lessons, Viktor volunteered himself to be his partner, but instead of properly leading the dances he spent most of the time as they moved about the room with his lips to Yuuri’s ear, whispering sweet words that probably came out more silly than seductive, with how Yuuri would laugh. They stumbled over themselves more than once. So, Lilia’s frustration is understandable. For now, Viktor takes the blame, and Yuuri has narrowly avoided her wrath. It’ll come to him eventually, it happens to everyone under her instruction.

Viktor inches his hand down daringly but stops just above Yuuri’s trousers and huffs. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side? After everything I’ve done for you…”

That earns him a grin, bright and beautiful but also so playful and smug that Viktor wants to kiss it right off of his face.

He almost does, but then Lilia appears at their side again suddenly and the air turns ice-cold. Yuuri immediately puts distance between himself and the prince, clearing his throat, red right up to the tips of his ears.

“I am taking my time to instruct you both. Here, you do as I say, unless you would prefer to keep stumbling over your feet like a baby lamb.”

Yuuri’s face turns a brighter red. He bows his head low. “Yes, Madame Baranovskaya. I’m sorry.”

“And _you,”_ she directs at Viktor, her tone lethal, “If you cannot rein yourself in for at least an hour then I will find someone else for him to practice with. You will have plenty of time for your _canoodling_ later. Have I made myself clear?”

And twenty-seven-year-old Crown Prince Viktor Nikiforov huffs and mutters like an insolent teenager, “Yes, Madame Baranovskaya.”

“Speak up, Vitya.”

There’s laughter in Yuuri’s eyes. Viktor’s horribly embarrassed, being reprimanded like a child right in front of him.

“Yes, Madame Baranovskaya. I understand,” he says, louder, forcing himself to keep even the smallest edge of defiance from his voice.

So for the next hour, and with every scrap of Viktor’s willpower, they practice the steps of their waltz. Yuuri is definitely what one would call a natural. For someone _not_ human, he’s quickly learned to move like one, and perhaps with even more grace than most. It makes it much easier, and also makes him less susceptible to Lilia’s scolding. Unlike Viktor, but that’s mostly because he has a tendency to do exactly what he’s told _not_ to do. Well… Yuuri is like that, too, but he’s smart enough to break his rebellious streak so he _doesn’t_ get on her bad side. For now.

It’s hard to not get sidetracked again when the entire time they dance, Yuuri is looking at him like _that._ With hooded eyes, beneath his lashes, accompanied by a sly smile pulling at one corner of his lips. Inexperienced as he may be, the dragon knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. He must have either picked it up from Viktor, or this is a part of him he’s been hiding for quite some time.

When Lilia is satisfied with their performance for the day, she waves them off.

“Thank you, Madame Baranovskaya,” Yuuri says with a respectful, short bow.

Viktor doesn’t know if he’s imagining the faint smile on the woman’s face or not when she says, “The same time Friday morning.” Her eyes flicker towards Viktor. “You won’t be needing to come along, Vitya.”

She leaves no room for argument, then turns and resumes shouting orders and scathing (but ultimately well-intentioned) criticism to Yura, who looks like he’d rather be doing anything else and in return to Viktor’s sympathetic look he makes a rude hand gesture which immediately gets him berated for rude, vulgar behavior.

A tug on his hand makes him look back at Yuuri, whose smile is less sly and more gentle this time. They step out of the grand doors into the empty vestibule, the only other individuals being the two guards standing stock-still outside the ballroom, and one passing through into another corridor as they patrol. Viktor isn’t used to so many guards posted at once around the palace. The last time he remembers it happening was years ago when his father…

The thought is chased away. Yuuri is guiding him across the vestibule and down one corridor, a low hum rising from his chest, a tune that he had picked up from Viktor. He moves with such ease on legs and feet he used to stumble over at first, and he’s grown accustomed to shoes, thank the gods. So much improvement in the span of just nearly two months. Their first summer together is slowly slipping into autumn, the air still warm but the trees taking on shades of reds and oranges, shedding their leaves which crunch underfoot when one took a stroll outdoors.

Yuuri’s health, however… since their trip to the beach, since Yuuri passed out on horseback and spent a good week stuck in the infirmary… he seems well, most times, but there are instances where color leaves his face and he cannot stand upright, grasping onto the nearest object to keep him from crumbling to the floor. The most infuriating thing is when Yuuri insists he’s _fine_ and keeps pushing himself once he finds the strength to walk properly again.

And there is something on Yuuri’s mind, of course. Viktor may not be the best at handling the emotions of others, but he certainly knows how to read a person like a book, and Yuuri isn’t exactly the best with hiding how he feels. His face reveals everything. There’s barely-concealed anxiety there in his eyes at all times, more than Viktor is used to seeing. He’s taken note of how sometimes Yuuri will look around a room while he’s waiting for something or someone, and how the tiniest sound will make him freeze and alert.

No matter how much Viktor presses, Yuuri won’t tell him what’s wrong. They aren’t allowed much privacy lately, not when Viktor has guards following him everywhere for more than half a day. Viktor hasn’t even been able to visit Yuuri in the evenings, to sit with him until he falls asleep. When he isn’t giving Yuuri his lessons, or in his _own_ lessons, or dealing with stuffy nobles or some ambassador of a tiny country Viktor wouldn’t be able to remember the name of even if he tried, he’s stuck with two guards at a time to make sure he can wander the palace safely.

It’s a little invasive, actually.

Now, though…

He peers at the nape of Yuuri’s neck partially exposed by the collar of his shirt, where his dark hair curls outward as it grows out again. Then his eyes slide down to the slender slope of his shoulders, then to his upper back before snapping up again. Viktor drinks in the curve of his neck, where it meets his shoulder, then casts a glance around them.

Yuuri makes a startled sound when Viktor’s suddenly cornering him in the empty corridor, backing him up, forearms pressed against the wall by either side of Yuuri’s head and caging him between them.

When he leans in it’s slow, cautious, waiting for Yuuri to give him a signal of whether it’s okay or not, but when Yuuri’s lips twitch in a smile and his eyes flutter shut Viktor doesn’t continue to hesitate. It’s more gentle and sweet than Yuuri’s probably expecting. One of Viktor’s hands drops to his cheek, thumb stroking repeatedly over his cheekbone. The dragon’s glasses are knocked askew by Viktor’s nose, but he hardly seems to care. Hands fly up to hold onto Viktor’s waist, fingers twitching then curling into his waistcoat. There’s the feeling of a smile forming against his lips.

In a sudden movement, their positions are changing, whirling around with Viktor now pressed to the wall where Yuuri had been just a second prior. Yuuri is deceptively lithe, but there’s strength hidden in every lean muscle of his body. It can make it a struggle to worm out of his grasp, not that Viktor finds he really wants to. The dragon gives him a few fleeting kisses, then mouths along his jawline. It’s a little clumsy, Yuuri still figuring out how all of _this_ works. Viktor still feels the light scrape of sharp teeth that stings a little less now but makes him startle nonetheless. Yuuri is undeterred, loosening the knot of Viktor’s cravat with an impatient grumble.

Lips connect to the underside of Viktor’s jaw. One hand flies up to tangle his fingers into dark hair, his face blooming bright red and his heartbeat accelerating.

“Yuuri,” he all but whines, breathing reduced to rapid pants, always caught off guard by the sudden boldness but it’s _never_ an unpleasant surprise, “W-we-- it’s almost lunch, you know. We should--”

“You didn’t seem so concerned about that just a moment ago,” Yuuri cuts in with his mouth pressed close to Viktor’s ear. But he relents anyway, putting a foot of space between them. One more look is cast Viktor’s way before Yuuri pads down the corridor and out of sight at one corner.

Viktor takes a moment to compose himself. The heat in his face fades to a faint simmer beneath his skin. He adjusts his cravat and smooths down his waistcoat, glances down the corridor in the direction Yuuri had taken his leave, and he sighs with fondness and an unspoken, _What am I to do with you?_

 

\---

 

Yuuri might be a little evil. Just a little. Because he had gotten a kick out of watching Viktor squirm during lunch after Yuuri had turned the tables on him after their dance lessons when he grew bold and took charge. The things some people say, that Yuuri is a soft, compliant, nervous boy so happy to bend to their prince’s will; it’s not something that sits well with him. Humans love to talk, he knows, and those higher up on the metaphorical food chain are the biggest offenders. He’s been caught up in that life, one full of glittering jewels and gold and the flutter of chiffon and silk, cheeks rosy from alcohol and laughter, and the feeling of someone else’s bed sheets in the evening… And since then, he isn’t safe from judgmental criticism and curious prodding from strangers, only made worse by his involvement with the prince. They hadn’t said anything about their new nature of involvement to anyone, but it’s not exactly something they keep a secret either. People put two and two together quickly, and within the matter of a few hours, everyone in the palace knew.

(He’s surprised it wasn’t some huge scandal. Their relationship is unconventional in more than one way, but one reason is a bit too dangerous to reveal.)

Well, if they’re going to talk, he’s going to give them something to talk about.

“He wants to take me on… a date,” Yuuri says to Phichit as he helps him fold up freshly cleaned sheets. “Tomorrow. Into the city. I haven’t been there yet.”

It was propositioned over their lunch, Viktor having lifted his hand from the table to give it a kiss and watch Yuuri from over his knuckles, a smile felt against his skin.

_“Let me take you out, Yuuri,” his voice had been low, and Yuuri was then the one squirming. “I want to spoil you.”_

Yuuri had half-heartedly tried to protest but quickly gave in. It was hard to refuse when Viktor fluttered his lashes and smiled at him like that.

Viktor’s just a little evil, too.

“Buy me something nice,” Phichit responds, shaking out one sheet. Yuuri quickly takes the corners of one end and assists Phichit in folding it. It’s been hard to tell whether Phichit is approving of this affair or not, he _had_ been the one to initially warn Yuuri of Viktor’s status as a _playboy._ A _heartbreaker._ Something that Viktor himself had told Yuuri was not true, that even as a prince he is not safe from rumors… people are just a little quieter about it. Phichit hadn’t seemed upset or angry when Yuuri told him (“I heard already,” he said), but he wasn’t exactly ecstatic. Still, he had smiled a genuine smile and wished the best for him.

“And stay safe,” Phichit continues, laying out the half-folded sheet on one bed and smoothing out the wrinkles. “I mean, I know you will, but it’s a big city. A lot could happen. Don’t push yourself either.”

Worry flashes across Phichit’s face. Yuuri knows what he means. Since his time bedridden, he still isn’t in top condition. Occasionally he’s had to go back for Nurse Petrova to make him a medicinal tea that will chase away the dizzy spells and nausea for a short time. What they don’t get rid of is a voice calling for him, pleading for him to tell it where he is, and he knows the voice but he cannot place a name on it. Still too distant and muffled, but he swears it’s getting closer by the day. It haunts him at night. It comes back at the most unexpected, inconvenient times. No one but himself knows about it, as far as everyone else is concerned he’s just ill and it may take some time to pass. Just like no one but himself knows of his confrontation with that strange woman named Minako or even knows of her presence. Yuuri hasn’t seen her since the day he first woke in the infirmary, and Seung-gil has been making himself scarce. The one time Yuuri saw him again and tried to confront him, he was gone in a flash. It makes Yuuri a little paranoid.

“I’ll be fine,” Yuuri says, and he means it, or he hopes he does. It’s true he hasn’t been in the city yet, despite being in the palace approaching two months. Some of his jumpy nerves aren’t just from being unable to change in the presence of humans (along with many other inconvenient circumstances lately), but a growing case of cabin fever. He unrolls his sleeves from his elbows down to his wrists. Phichit gives him a little smile, stacking the folded sheets on top of each other. Yuuri inhales. “Is it okay if I-- if I come here for supper tonight?”

“Sure,” his friend hums. “I’d like that. We haven’t had you over for a while.”

Yuuri bites his lip, shoulders sagging in relief. If Phichit was clearly concerned for his health and is willing and happy to have him over, then maybe Yuuri’s been too worried about a nonexistent strain in their friendship over something so silly as his romantic involvement with the prince. Phichit’s worried, there’s been an air of tension throughout the whole palace lately and it shows in everyone’s eyes and the way they hold themselves. Like they’re anticipating the worst.

There’s still some details Yuuri is missing about the entire situation. Very important details, he imagines, and he’d ask Phichit, but he’s sure a servant boy wouldn’t be privy to such important information. Word travels fast about unimportant things, eavesdropping is not uncommon, but the royal family and their closest remain tight-lipped on serious matters until they find it necessary to speak of it openly. Not even Viktor has told him. It’s irritating, being kept in the dark.

“I’ll see you then,” Yuuri says. He turns to make his way across the room of the servant’s quarters, only halfway to the doorway when he feels a gentle touch to his elbow that makes him turn around.

Phichit is there, his smile warm and eyes warmer. He takes hold of Yuuri’s arms and gives them a little squeeze.

“I’m happy for you, Yuuri. I really am.” There’s no way to twist Phichit’s words around in Yuuri’s mind until he’s convinced they’re a lie. Yuuri trusts him, enough to know Phichit is not a dishonest man, and that Phichit wouldn’t have anything to gain by lying to him. They had clicked so easily, friends right from the start, and Phichit’s constant honesty makes Yuuri feel unbearably guilty over his lack of it. There’s much Phichit doesn’t know. It’s for the best, and yet…

Warm hands move from Yuuri’s arms to hold his face. “I’m sorry if you think I’m not. I guess I’m a little suspicious, I won’t lie, but… I trust your judgment. I trust _you.”_ Yuuri somehow manages not to wince at that. He feels guilty enough. _Way to twist the knife._ “And, well, you would have to be blind not to see how he looks at you.”

Thumbs brush over Yuuri’s cheekbones. It’s so genuine. There’s so much he wants to tell Phichit, he wonders if their friendship already runs deep enough that he can tell him the truth without Phichit turning on him and thus causing his demise.

It’s not a risk he’s willing to take. Not now.

Yuuri reaches up to take one of his hands. It’s given a gentle squeeze. Phichit entwines their fingers and clutches tightly.

“Thank you, Phichit,” he murmurs.

“I mean it,” Phichit responds, firm.

“I know.” Yuuri smiles.

“I’ll let Yuuko know to set out an extra plate for later.” Phichit drops his other hand from Yuuri’s cheek. “And, have fun tomorrow, Yuuri. I mean it when I say to buy me something nice.”

The dragon snickers when Phichit wiggles his fingers into the ticklish part of his neck and swats his hand away. “I’ll try.”

 

\---

 

Sleep doesn’t come easy.

After spending supper with the servants, Yuuri had managed to catch Viktor alone as the prince left the solar. In the empty corridor, they swapped kisses as they held one another, Viktor pressing him against the wall and shielding him from view with his broad frame. They would have gone on longer, they hadn’t seen much of one another that day after lunch outside of a brief reading lesson if it weren’t for Mila and another guard exiting the solar to follow Viktor to his chambers.

Not having Viktor there when he tries to fall asleep is strange and almost uncomfortable. The only sound that lulls him to sleep is his own breathing and heartbeat too loud in the silence of the room, rather than Viktor’s soft humming. He’s getting used to it as more time passes, but tonight is an exception.

It isn’t because of tomorrow.

It isn’t because of the tension within the palace.

It isn’t because of a voice in his head calling for him.

It’s because he feels like he’s being watched. Eyes burning into him from everywhere, from something or someone unseen. Yuuri brings the blanket further over him, curling in on himself. It’s too cold in the room suddenly despite uneasy heat prickling beneath his skin. He half considers sneaking off to Viktor’s chambers like he’s done before. With that secret passageway Yura had shown him, it’d be easy, though he’s only done it once since that night. It just depends on the guard that would be outside of Viktor’s door that night.

Something keeps him in place. Yuuri bundles himself up tighter but snaps open his eyes to stare blindly into the dark. The curtains are drawn shut over the balcony doors, not even offering any light from the moon.

He breathes in. Then his eyes slide shut again. It feels like the room slips out from beneath him.

 

_Darkness is suddenly illuminated by full moonlight, but he is no longer bundled up in a blanket in his room within the palace anymore. He’s on his belly on damp grass, the air -- winter air -- is freezing to the bone. Not the worst winter could get, but enough to cause discomfort. On all sides, there are steep crags and slopes covered in moss, in small trees sticking out from the rock. The green of the trees and the distant mountain range are painted purple in the darkness, not even the moonlight brings out the vibrant colors ever-present despite the season._

_Yuuri is acutely aware then that he is no longer in the form of a human. Dew soaks his fur, makes the winter chill even more unforgiving, and then he’s aware he cannot move. There are ropes binding his front legs together, rubbing the flesh raw when he begins to thrash and struggle._

_Then there are humans. At least twenty of them, with torches and blades and magic dancing from their fingertips. They hold him down, he’s the smallest of the bunch -- he sees his parents, being cornered against the rocks near the base of the waterfall. His sister is nowhere in sight. Yuuri snaps at the assailants and wails in distress, the sound causing birds in the distance to flutter from their perch in the trees. The humans are spitting at each other to ‘hold it down’, and ‘shut it up’, and many other things that Yuuri cannot comprehend in the whirlwind of his terrified brain._

_He wails again. There’s a sound on the far end of the spring, angered shouts from humans as they’re tossed aside, and he sees her. His big sister. Mari-ryuu. Mari-nee._

_“Yuuri!” She calls to him, “Yuuri! Where are you?!”_

_“Mari! Here!” He tastes blood in his mouth. His own blood. “Here! I’m here!”_

_And he sees her as she rushes towards him and the men holding him down. A blur of black and gold, barreling towards them as fast as she could, but she’s sent scrambling back when a human weapon is hurled at her, missing her by just a hair and is then dragged back to the human’s side by a rope. Flames burst from the ground, a barrier between her and her little brother and the humans now tying a rope around his muzzle. More of them are advancing on her now._

_No, she has to live. His parents are still fighting, but if they don’t make it, if_ he _doesn’t make it, then Mari has to. She’s strong and smart; it’s not her time to die just yet. If anyone deserves to live, it is her._

_“Go!” Yuuri shrieks then, as best he can with the rope around his muzzle. “Go, Mari! Please, please!”_

_His sister looks lost, frantic, panicked. It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever seen her, a dragon normally so laid back, who always knew what to do and say, who was always there for him and guided him._

_“Please!” Yuuri cries the word over and over, tail lashing until it’s forced down to the ground. “Go!_ Go!”

 _The last time he sees her is with her confused, angry, and_ sad _eyes before she takes to the air and flies where the humans’ attacks will not reach. There’s a dull thump at the back of his skull. He blacks out._

 

Yuuri’s eyes snap open then and he’s surrounded by the darkness of his bedroom. He sits up. Sweat soaks his face, his neck, makes his nightshirt stick to his back. He feels disgusting and his eyes burn like he’d been crying. That was a memory he never thought he would have to relive so vividly. He’s aware of the taste of his own blood in his mouth from where he had dug his teeth painfully hard into his lower lip as he slept.

The nightmare reopens his wounds. He can still hear the sounds of his cornered parents, his own cries and how hoarse his voice became, his sister--

 

_Yuuri! Where are you?!_

_Here! Here! I’m here!_

 

Realization dawns on him.

Yuuri blinks slowly. Knees are drawn to his chest so he can bury his face in them.

And he cries. A pitiful keening sound, his sobs racking his whole body.

He doesn’t know how long he cries, but he wears himself out thoroughly. His eyes feel puffy and he still hiccups and sobs even after he runs out of tears. How he manages to pull himself from the bed, he doesn’t know, but he makes his way to the bathroom to fill up the basin with warm water to wash his face of snot, tears, and sweat. The nightshirt still clings to his skin and he curses, grasping at the hem as he steps out of the bathroom and pulling it halfway up when he halts suddenly.

There’s a figure in the middle of the room, standing at the foot of the bed. It’s not Viktor, the figure is too slim. He didn’t hear anyone come in, but the balcony doors have been opened enough for someone to slip inside.

His mouth goes dry. Yuuri doesn’t know what to do or say, and he lets his nightshirt cover him again. He considers screaming for help, but he doesn’t know if that will lead him to a quick death from a knife at his throat before anyone can even answer his cries.

Instead, when he opens his mouth to make any sound, all he can manage is a, “Who--”

“Shh.”

Yuuri holds his breath. The figure moves, but not toward him and instead toward the balcony. The thin strip of moonlight from the partially open door illuminates the intruder’s face then and Yuuri feels his throat close up.

Minako is there, pushing the doors open further to slip out onto the balcony. The smart thing to do would be to run, leave the room and alert the guards, but he knows Minako is not one to be trifled with. She could strike him down before he even made it halfway to the door. So he stands there for a few moments longer, weighing his options. He could take the chance and run, or he could follow her out, he could demand answers. All these options have their risks, but he really isn’t in the mood to die tonight.

So he moves quietly towards the open doors. The autumn evening is chilly and turns his exposed skin to gooseflesh. Minako stands there with her back to him and hands against the balustrade. While at first glance she seems relaxed, Yuuri can see the tension in her shoulders and how her grip is tight enough to turn her knuckles white. It’s like she’s coiled to strike. Yuuri keeps his distance, lingering in the doorway.

“It’s a nice evening,” she says casually, tipping her head back to look up to the stars winking down at them from an endless stretch of deep blue. “Shame it gets so cold so quickly here, though. I’d enjoy it better if it were warmer.”

“What do you want?” Yuuri blurts out.

Minako snorts, swiveling around enough to look at him with one elbow resting on the balustrade. “Not one for small talk, then.”

“Excuse me for not being thrilled about seeing you after that amazing first impression,” he snaps. Yuuri sees her hand twitch. The same one he had sunk his teeth into in a valiant attempt to get her off of him. He wonders if there's any lasting marks from his fangs in her skin.

She must be able to read his mind with how she lifts her hand. Yuuri flinches at the movement, but now gets a clear view of the pale welts on her palm. He can’t help but admire the marks his teeth made and the fact he had been able to fight back at all in his state then.

“Proud of your handiwork?” Minako drops her hand and leans further over the balcony, her brown hair spilling over one shoulder. The dark of the evening makes it difficult to really take in the details of her face. Their last meeting he hadn’t exactly been focused on memorizing how she looked as much as he had been on getting away from her. What he can tell is she must be around the Queen’s age, if not a little older. There’s a mole beneath her left eye. And she looks like she’s seen, and been through, a lot. “I should know by now not to underestimate your kind. Even when you’re like,” she gestures to him, up and down, “well, this.”

“Human?”

“Sick, too.” There’s amusement in her voice. Minako turns to face him properly, leaning back against the balustrade. Yuuri has a fuzzy view of the gardens behind her, resting two floors beneath the balcony. He can’t really make out any details in the dark, especially without his glasses. Off in the distance, there’s a blur of gold from the light of the capital city. “You still are.”

Yuuri is taken aback. The entire situation is far too baffling for him, especially in his exhaustion, still recovering from his nightmare. For one, she somehow ended up in the palace again without being spotted. In his room, specifically. And she’s also not treating him aggressively like she had. She’s not pinning him back and threatening him or calling him stupid. Even though she looks ready to attack if she needs to, she’s being entirely cordial with him. And she also knows he’s still sick, despite how well Yuuri thinks he’s hiding it, and how would she know _anyway?_ His thoughts flash to Seung-gil, then to the possibility that she has even more eyes within the palace than he realizes. Or maybe she’s been watching him herself longer than he realizes.

“How do you--” Minako raises a hand to him and it immediately shuts him up.

“Yuuri, right?” She pushes herself forward, strolling across the small space between them and stopping just a few inches away. She isn’t that much shorter than him. “Do you know who I am?”

“Mi...nako?” Yuuri says slowly, suspiciously, and he feels like he’s missing something here what with how her brow quirks incredulously at him.

“So you don’t, then,” Minako snorts. “But I’m guessing you’re smart enough to realize I’m the reason everyone’s on high alert?”

“I figured as much,” he mutters, eyeing her warily as she moves away from him again and back to look out over the gardens. “Are you that dangerous?”

The woman mutters something to herself, tapping her chin with her index finger with a thoughtful expression on her face. “Depends on who you ask.” That doesn’t really tell him anything. She leans over the balustrade, propping her chin up on her hand. “Dangerous to some, maybe. To you? No.”

Yuuri peers at her searchingly. Cautious footsteps are taken to her side, but he retains a generous amount of distance between them and watches her from the corner of his eye. Minako isn’t looking at him, but she resumes speaking, “I’ve been a friend to your kind for a long time, you know. Nearly got my head chopped right off my shoulders for it. Luckily, it’s just about impossible to keep me in chains. Did your pretty prince not give you a history lesson?”

“What do you mean?”

Minako turns to him again and sticks her hand out. “People call me a lot of things, but you can call me Okukawa Minako. Or just Minako. I spent these past few months trying to track you down.”

“Months? How did you know about me in the first place?” He hisses.

She gives him a wink. “I have a lot to tell you. And show you, actually. You’re going into the city tomorrow, right? I’ll have someone find you.”

“But I’ll be out with Viktor,” Yuuri points out warily, “It isn’t like I can run off from him. Or our guards.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’ll just send directions on what to do. Which I don’t want you reading right in front of him. You can read, right?”

“Um, a bit. I’m still learning.”

“I’ll phrase it as simply as I can then.” Minako brushes her hair from her face. “Don’t worry, I’ll send someone who knows how to be discreet.”

“I don't trust you.” Yuuri hisses, eyes narrowing into thin slits and his molars grinding together. “You might just want me dead.”

Minako doesn’t even try to muffle her laugh, tossing her head back. It’s a bright and pleasant sound, still youthful despite her apparent age. “You don't have to trust me. But really, if I wanted you dead, I would’ve killed you already.”

Well, he can’t argue with that logic. Yuuri rubs his arms, the chill making his skin tingle. That, coupled with exhaustion, makes him want to crawl back into bed where he can wrap himself up in blankets. Maybe he’s tired enough now to sleep soundly, without nightmares.

“Okay, but why are you…”

“Yuuri. I’ll tell you everything eventually.” She’s turning back towards the gardens. “Go back to sleep. Maybe take a bath, you smell like a barn.”

“That’s nice of you.”

She snickers. “Sweet dreams.”

And she’s gone in an instant, jumping from the balcony in one smooth motion and landing gracefully on her feet like a cat, disappearing into the shadows of the garden.

Yuuri shivers. He’s so tired, his mind is still reeling, and he feels disgusting. The sweat has dried on his skin and his nightshirt, but he has no energy to bathe now. It’ll have to come before breakfast later. What time is it, even? It has to be long past midnight, but the sun hasn’t begun to rise yet.

So long as he can get more sleep, but he doesn’t think he can with _that_ unwelcome surprise. At least she didn’t kill him.

He steps back into the room and uses the moonlight shining through the doors to guide him to the lamp which he switches on. Yuuri shuts the doors, pulls the curtains over them, and yanks his nightshirt off to toss aside for it to land anywhere it so pleases, he doesn’t care. The dragon heaves a sigh and slips under the blankets, shutting the lamp off and curling up.

Despite what had just transpired, exhaustion gets the better of him, and he slips into a boneless sleep, but not without the echo of his nightmare still in his head.

 

\---

 

Yuuri’s first impression of Kypol is that it’s big, it’s beautiful, and the people that mill about the streets are just about as flashy as it is. This is the more high-end area of the city, at least. A shopping district, with the fancy markets and the restaurants and classy inns and the clubs that men don’t tell their wives about. It’s also loud and crowded, but people make way for the carriage as it passes through the northern gate. They recognize the large white horses, two of them, pulling the carriage. The insignia of a golden lion’s head on the side of the pristine white-and-red carriage, the crest of the Nikiforovs, and pinned to the lapels of the coachman’s coat, and two guards sitting on either side of him are other giveaways. They may not be able to see the prince inside, but they know very well that a member of the royal family has arrived.

He keeps peeking past the curtains to catch glimpses of the buildings, the cobblestone streets, the fashionable men and women taking their morning strolls or running errands, children playing with their dogs, vendors calling from their stands at the side of the street. So many humans, the smell of them is almost suffocating. Almost as suffocating as that feeling of anticipation coiling in his gut when he remembers he’s to be expecting someone today, someone sent to relay instructions from Minako, and he can only hope they _are_ capable of appearing inconspicuous. If not, so much could go wrong in an instant.

Viktor must have noticed Yuuri’s unease. The prince squeezes his hand, pressing closer to him.

The only reason the guards are sitting with the coachman is that Viktor had asked, so he and Yuuri had a bit of time and privacy to themselves on the way from the palace to the city. They’ve been nestled close the entire ride, Yuuri only pulling away when they entered the city to look outside. Now Viktor has fitted against him again, thumb rubbing over his knuckles, lips against his ear.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” he breathes. Yuuri might have shivered and melted at the low rumble of his voice had his words not been so ridiculous they made him scoff instead. How could Yuuri not be nervous? Viktor isn’t the dragon in human’s clothing, about to spend the day among the beings that would want him dead should the truth slip? Yuuri doesn’t say any of that because even with the carriage hiding them from the outside world he doesn’t want to risk someone possibly overhearing.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Yuuri grumbles. There’s more worries on his mind outside of his true identity being revealed and the situation with that woman, such as tiny insecurities nagging at his brain. “Everyone _loves_ you. The _Prince._ And who am I? No one special.”

“Mm. Don’t say that. Everyone will be so envious, wanting the beauty on my arm for themselves. They’ll wonder how I managed to find someone like you, _dorogoy moy._ They’ll say I’m a lucky man.” Viktor releases his hand so he can slip an arm around his waist instead, drawing him closer. Yuuri grumbles but doesn’t fight it. “And I am. I have you all to myself.”

Viktor continues his ridiculous babbling into Yuuri’s ear and Yuuri does his damnedest to act like he doesn’t enjoy it.

Of course, he _does,_ he just likes to be difficult sometimes.

The carriage finally comes to a stop, but they don’t tear themselves away from one another. This must be what new lovers are like, incapable of _not_ being in one another’s immediate space. Then again, Viktor had always been clingy even before then.

“Sir Katsuki, Your Royal Highness,” it’s Mila’s voice that causes them to pull away. The young knight is poking her head into the carriage with a wide grin plastered on her face. “Sorry to interrupt, but unfortunately, the driver won’t be too happy that he brought you all the way out to the city for you to continue to sit here and act like hormonal teenagers.”

“Says the _hormonal teenager,”_ Viktor shoots back. “Do not think I haven’t seen you around that Crispino girl.”

“His words, not mine.” Mila winks, drawing out and letting the curtain fall back into place.

Viktor turns back to Yuuri, who is doing his best not to laugh. He’s still amazed by the level of familiarity so many that work and live within the palace address Viktor with, like he isn’t a prince, but more like he is family, whether they’re actually related or not.

He pulls Viktor in again for a slow, languid kiss, amused by himself for falling victim to human temptations so easily. Viktor grabs his hips and they probably _would_ have stayed there for the rest of the day were it not for Mila suddenly banging on the side of the carriage. They both laugh quietly, parting long enough for Viktor to stand and step out of the carriage. Yuuri pats at his dark hair to make sure it’s still in place, slicked back with some substance called _pomade_ that feels a little sticky and gross, adjusts his jacket and collar of his dress shirt until he thinks he’s somewhat presentable. When he finally steps out, Viktor is offering his hand to take as he steps down onto the street.

“You look very handsome,” the prince hums, looking Yuuri up and down more than once, letting his eyes linger on his waistline and the slope of his shoulders accentuated by the dark jacket he wears. Yuuri’s feels himself heat up beneath Viktor’s gaze, somehow feeling more exposed then than he may while standing entirely bare. The outfit was tailored especially for him after hours of taking proper measurements and then actually getting Viktor’s approval. The tight shirt worn beneath the rest of his layers of clothing to press his chest flat is still uncomfortable, but the tailor insisted it would make everything fit much easier.

“Yes, you told me many times this morning,” Yuuri replies with a smile and roll of his eyes. “But next to you, I’m not sure I can compare.”

With his buttoned-up gray frock coat over a stylish white uniform, still the perfect picture of royalty even in something much more casual than his usual princely garb. Yuuri feels quite plain next to him, but all eyes would be on the prince no matter what he wore. He would look good in just rags, Yuuri thinks.

“That’s nonsense. Now, come with me, I said I wanted to spoil you.” Viktor offers his arm and Yuuri almost hesitates, looking around the street where some people cast glances but most are respectful enough to remain discreet and go on with their day. The aura has changed, however, what with them being in the presence of the Crown Prince. It makes Yuuri’s nerves spike again. If they notice Viktor, they notice Yuuri, and he’s sure any word about the two of them hasn’t reached the city just yet. Most citizens will know by the end of the day.

“You think too loudly,” Viktor’s voice against his ear makes Yuuri jolt back to awareness. He jerks his head to meet Viktor’s gaze, only inches away from his own. There’s a playful glimmer in the blue of his eyes.

Yuuri looks away and clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Gentle lips press to his warm cheek and it only makes his face burn brighter. Yuuri can’t say how fond he is of gratuitous displays affection in public, just a kiss on the cheek and their arms linked is enough to have embarrassment boiling beneath his skin. In the palace, or within the carriage, were things he could handle, but surrounded by so many people? He’s not sure. It’ll take some getting used to.

“Everything will be fine,” Viktor insists.

Doubt still eats away at him, but he forces himself to push it down and trust Viktor. The prince has walked these streets many times, hasn’t he? He’d know better than Yuuri, and Yuuri needs to trust that it’s safe. So long as he can keep control of himself, that his nerves don’t make him slip up.

He inhales, “Okay. I trust you.”

Viktor glances over his shoulder where Mila and the second knight have fallen a few yards back to allow the two some privacy and freedom to talk without fear of them being overheard. His breath is on Yuuri’s ear again. Yuuri suppresses a shiver.

“I’m sure I’ll get in trouble for this later, but…” The prince’s voice is low, his tone playful and sly. Yuuri quirks a brow at him, watching how Viktor’s eyes flicker back to the two knights behind them. The devilish smile curling at Viktor’s lips can only mean trouble. “Well, you said you trust me.”

Their arms slip away from each other and Viktor clasps onto Yuuri’s hand, giving him a wink. Before he can even ask, Viktor is breaking into a run and yanking Yuuri along with him, and Yuuri is having a difficult time finding his balance to keep up, stumbling behind him clumsily. Behind them, he can hear Mila cackling and the other knight’s panicked shouting, but after a few turns, when Viktor decides they’ve lost them for now, he slows into a walk.

Yuuri clutches his chest where his heart pounds almost painfully, rapid against his ribcage. He sucks in large lungfuls of air, his throat burning and face unpleasantly warm. Yuuri can’t tell if the dizziness creeping up on him is the same as the sickness that’s been plaguing him for the past few weeks, or if it’s from his lack of air and heart pounding much too fast. To his relief, it fades as quickly as it comes. Now, his neatly styled hair is beginning to come undone, messy strands falling in front of his forehead and curling at the nape of his neck and back of his skull. When he regains his composure he gives Viktor a look that’s a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. He opens his mouth with the intention of admonishing him right there in the middle of the street, but Viktor presses a finger to his lips. The smile on his face is way too smug for Yuuri’s liking.

He should just bite Viktor’s finger off.

“Now we won’t need to worry about them for a while,” the prince says, tapping Yuuri’s lips gently and barely managing to pull his hand away in time when Yuuri snaps at his finger. “Yuuri!”

“A warning would’ve been nice,” he grumbles, reaching up to fix his hair.

“Yuuri, you’re pouting!” Viktor sounds absolutely _delighted._

“I’m _not_ pouting.” Okay, maybe he is pouting a little bit.

Viktor bats Yuuri’s hands away to fix his hair himself, combing his fingers through the dark locks. The feeling is enough to make Yuuri relax immediately, leaning into the touch. He can forgive Viktor for now.

When Viktor is satisfied, and when Yuuri has had enough of passersby peering at them curiously, he draws away and offers his arm again. Yuuri takes hold of his elbow, using his other hand to adjust his glasses over his nose. They walk at a steady, casual pace, Viktor allowing Yuuri to take in the sights and sounds. Occasionally, he’ll point out some small landmark, usually about a Lord or General So-and-so who died valiantly in the Battle of Something-or-the-other. He sounds about as interested in them as Yuuri feels. Meaning, not at all.

“Oh!” Viktor is tugging at his arm again, but at least he’s not bolting this time. Instead, he’s pulling Yuuri towards a stand piled high with different freshly-made foods on all sides. The vendor startles at the sight of the prince but gives a welcoming smile.

“I just realized you have never tried pirozhki,” Viktor says, not giving Yuuri a chance to ask what that is because Viktor’s already fishing out a few coins in exchange for two wrapped up buns that smell of meat and vegetables beneath the scent of baked bread. The vendor gawks when Viktor pushes the coins into his palm, clearly far more money than the food actually cost, but manages to thank him for his purchase and to please, have a wonderful day, Your Highness!

He nibbles at the pirozhki curiously. There’s a hungry ache in his belly, he hadn’t eaten much that morning, and the moment his teeth meet the beef and mushroom within the bread he’s tearing into it probably with more eagerness than he probably should. It’s out on the streets though, not among visiting nobles or royalty from far away, and from the looks of it, Viktor isn’t all that worried either with how he eats his own.

For a time, he forgets about what he’s meant to be expecting while they’re out. Viktor talks and talks, gesturing broadly with one arm, telling Yuuri how he’ll show him every part of the city, take him to every shop, every restaurant.

“Not all in one day, I hope,” Yuuri hums.

“Oh, I would, but there are not even close to enough hours in a day.” Viktor curls his finger over his own lips thoughtfully, then smiles. “Besides, it leaves many more excuses for me to take you out.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Yuuri hums, which has Viktor halting in the middle of the street to hug him tightly against his chest and give him big, hard kisses to his cheek while Yuuri laughs, wiggling in his grip until Viktor relents.

“Didn’t I say I was going to spoil you?” Viktor smooths out the wrinkles _he_ caused in Yuuri’s jacket.

Yuuri squirms when Viktor’s fingers poke at his waist. “You don’t have to.”

“Hush.” There’s a finger back on his lips. Yuuri considers, for the second time that day, biting it off. It trails from his lips, down his jaw, and to his chin. “I want to, _zolotse._ Let me.”

He wants to argue, but Viktor’s giving him that wide-eyed, pleading stare Yuuri is convinced he learned from Makkachin when the pooch would beg for table scraps. Viktor really _is_ evil, using it to his advantage, knowing well enough by now that it’s hard for Yuuri to resist.

Yuuri squints. “Fine.” He lifts his hands and messes up Viktor’s hair. The prince whines in protest, quickly doing his best to tame the mess Yuuri made.

After Yuuri being tugged around a few more street corners and being fed two more kinds of street food, Viktor is herding him into a building full of color and cloth, gowns and jackets and trousers and hats put on display, jewelry shimmering in tightly-sealed glass cases strengthened by magic to make them impossible for any thief to shatter. Yuuri thinks back to Phichit’s request to ‘buy him something nice’. He was probably joking, but Yuuri is honestly considering it. This may be the right place if Viktor gives him enough time to browse.

“Go pick out anything you like. We can have it packed and sent to the palace,” Viktor says.

Yuuri, truthfully, doesn’t know the first thing about human fashion. Things can be ‘in style’ one week, then ‘out of style’ the next. So many outfits look more fitting for parties than day-to-day life, but he supposes that’s the life of the wealthy. Until he arrived in this kingdom, until he met Viktor, he hadn’t considered how vain humans could really be. But dragons were not any better, often falling victim to their own narcissism and pride.

(It is what contributed to their downfall, after all.)

He peruses the boutique while Viktor chats away with a young woman up front. About what, Yuuri doesn’t know, because he isn’t even close to fluent in their language yet. He can pick up certain words and phrases, but not enough to make sense of the conversation. So instead he focuses on poking through a few coats, admiring how the gems along the shoulders and back of one glimmer against the deep blue fabric and catch the light, and the swirling designs of maroon and green stand out against the mesh around the torso.

The bell above the door jingles as someone else comes in, but neither he nor Viktor, not any of the workers or other customers pay much mind. He’s contemplating the jacket, wondering if it’d be possible to tailor it to his size and perhaps make small changes to it. Someone stands a few feet away from him to the left, he can see them from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t think anything of them.

Yuuri almost shrieks at the sudden tap to his arm but manages to muffle himself with a hand slapping over his mouth. The individual that had been just a few feet from him only a moment ago now stands right at his side.

A young man, just a bit shorter than himself, with strong, square features and dark hair shaved up to his ears. Dark eyes search Yuuri briefly but the stranger says nothing, just begins to fish around in the breast pocket of his jacket. A small slip of parchment is pulled out and quickly pushed into Yuuri’s palm.

Yuuri opens his mouth to ask but shuts it quickly when it dawns on him. He had forgotten that Minako would send someone to find him, to pass on instructions from her, and this young man must be the messenger. Yuuri curls his fingers around the note and gives a slow nod.

The stranger returns it, and then he is strolling away as though nothing had just transpired, casual as can be.

He stares down at the note, remembering Minako telling him to not read it when Viktor is around. So he slips it into his pocket with a sigh.

After he’s picked out a soft, olive-green wool scarf for Phichit, after Viktor’s bought him more jewelry than Yuuri thinks he’ll actually wear, after Viktor’s bought him a generous amount of jackets and shirts and trousers and waistcoats and had the one outfit Yuuri had been admiring (Viktor thought it was _beautiful,_ and that Yuuri would look the most beautiful in it) sent off to the palace for proper fitting and tailoring, they’re finally exiting the boutique.

Only to be immediately accosted by Mila and her rather unhappy partner. Mila, in comparison, looks delighted.

“Forgive me for earlier,” Viktor snickers, but he doesn’t sound very sorry. “I hope I didn’t cause too much distress.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Mila responds, “He stopped complaining when we found something to eat. I figured you two wouldn’t want us breathing down your necks, anyway.”

“That’s right!” Viktor says cheerily. Yuuri rubs his neck with a sheepish smile when Viktor winds an arm around his middle, tugging him close.

“Plenty of people were wondering why the prince was running through the streets like his life depended on it, though,” she says, “and about the identity of the man he was dragging around.”

“Let them come up with their own conclusions.” Yuuri blinks up at Viktor, who just smiles back at him. They walk with the knights following close behind, making their way back to where the carriage had been parked and where the coachman has just finished feeding the horses.

They settle into their seats. The knights up front, with Viktor and Yuuri hid inside the carriage. The ride back is quiet, pleasantly so, with Yuuri nodding off against Viktor’s shoulder despite everything currently whirling around in his brain. The note in his pocket feels like a dead weight; it feels like it’ll burn a hole right through the pocket.

 

\---

 

It’s nearly time for supper when they arrive back at the palace. Their purchases from the city have already arrived, carried up to Yuuri’s chambers as instructed, and Viktor has Yuuri join him for dinner with his mother in the solar. She looks tired, tense, but she still smiles. A smile reserved for only those closest to her, and Viktor feels a swell of happiness seeing her smile at Yuuri like that, and for Yuuri to smile back.

When Yuuri finishes his meal and quietly excuses himself, Viktor catches his wrist to pull him into a brief, warm kiss. The dragon is red-faced when he pulls back, eyes flickering to Sofiya who is doing her best to act like she saw nothing but finding it impossible to stop herself from smirking around a mouthful of potato.

“You know, Vitya,” she says once Yuuri has left, setting her utensils down and folding her hands in her lap. A smile tugs at the corners of her lips and light dances in her eyes. “I had been wondering, admittedly for a while, about you two.”

Viktor nearly coughs up his mouthful of beef in surprise, hand flying up to cover his mouth. When he regains his bearings, he responds with, “What?”

“When you brought him here.” Sofiya leans back in her seat, one leg folded over the other beneath the skirt of her evening gown. “You said you had only just met. That you saved him.”

He remains silent but nods slowly.

“I may be getting older, but I’m far from blind.” And she laughs, and it’s a happy sound that Viktor didn’t expect to hear from her with the circumstances of the last few weeks. It makes warmth bloom in his chest, seeing how her cheeks grow pink with mirth and her eyes sparkle. “You had known him for some time, hadn’t you? Before he came here.”

There’s no hiding anything from his mother. Viktor quietly prays she hasn’t found out _too_ much, but if she has he would figure she would have done something about it. So he just nods again.

Then her eyes and her smile become wistful. Sofiya runs her finger over the worn, well-loved ring on her right hand. “I saw him, and then I saw how you looked at him -- how you _look_ at him, even now -- and it…” She sighs. “I was reminded of how your father would look at me.”

The story of Queen Sofiya and King Mikhail was well-known since it was considered scandalous and improper many, many years ago. Mikhail hadn’t been of royal blood, not even noble, just one of the palace’s many gardeners that caught the then fifteen-year-old princess’ eye. Much of the kingdom had disapproved, even Viktor’s grandparents, but soon his father had shown he was practically born to rule, the strongest king Seskia had in centuries. Both he and Sofiya, the strongest rulers, adored by their people. Madly in love, even as the years went on, Viktor being a symbol of their love. A love which never faded.

Not even after Mikhail was found dead in his own study when Viktor was eight. His assassin was never caught and never brought to justice.

Sofiya loves him even now.

“We’ve found another reason we are so like one another.” She grins to herself, then to him. “Loving someone without a single drop of royal blood.”

Viktor lets himself smile. Love is a powerful word, it has many different meanings. What he feels for Yuuri is certainly love, but it feels like it runs much deeper than what one might expect. A love like his mother and father’s. It had only been a few months since they first met in that forest where Yuuri was wounded, bleeding, terrified of the human that approached him and so standoffish for so long, but gradually opening up the more Viktor visited.

Loving a dragon. That was one thing he never expected to happen.

But Viktor is a big fan of surprises.

“Sometimes I wonder if these similarities are a blessing or a curse,” he chuckles.

“Both, I think,” she huffs out a laugh.

They spend the rest of their dinner in a comfortable silence. Viktor rises to his feet when he finishes, stepping around the table to press a kiss to his mother’s brow. “Good night, _Mama.”_

“Good night, Vitya.”

He makes his way through the palace with Mila in tow, not stopping once on his way to his chambers. The room is large, and it’s lonely. No offense to Makkachin of course, the poodle has been good company for years, but a dog cannot offer the same sort of company as a human.

Then again, Yuuri isn’t exactly human.

It would be nice to spend a night with Yuuri curled up close to him, his body warm, his back fitting perfectly against Viktor’s chest with their legs tangled together. It’s a lovely fantasy, one he’s not yet had the chance to indulge him. Security has been so tight, it’s difficult to visit one another at night. Impossible, even. Yuuri only managed it twice but hasn’t returned since.

He stays in the bath for a shorter time than usual. Just long enough to properly clean himself, then he unplugs the drain and steps out. After drying himself and stepping into his undergarments, he considers slipping into bed right then but finds himself pulling on simple dark trousers and a gray button-down shirt. Viktor slips into his shoes.

When he opens the door he startles Mila, who blinks at him wide-eyed.

“Are you--”

“Yes,” he answers before she can finish, knowing exactly what she means to ask. A smile pulls at her lips.

“I can escort you,” she offers. “Halfway there, at least. I know you’ll be fine, but you’re less likely to get questioned over why you’re wandering around without a guard.”

“Thank you, Mila.” The girl grins at that, her eyes lighting up and her cheeks scrunching up around her grin. Sometimes he forgets how young she really is, only eighteen yet still one of the best knights they have. He remembers her when she was ten and a wild little thing with red hair spilling all the way down her back, who would ruthlessly tease a seven-year-old Yura and follow a nineteen-year-old Viktor everywhere. When she smiles at him like that, when he still sees the small amounts of youthful fat remaining in her cheeks, he thinks of that mischievous ten-year-old.

Mila follows him close, through the west wing and across the grand hall, through many corridors before Viktor comes to a halt just before they reach the east wing.

“Are you coming back tonight?” Mila asks, knowing full well what the answer will be.

“No, not unless he tells me to leave,” Viktor says.

“Good luck, then.” She gives a low whistle, smiles, then takes her leave.

Viktor moves quickly through the halls, finding it silly he has to sneak around his own home. He’s the prince, it’s not as though anyone could do much if they caught him, but better safe than sorry. Up two staircases, down one hall and taking a left, he finally reaches the door to Yuuri’s chambers. There’s no sound coming from the other side, but there’s a glow of light from beneath the door. Yuuri must still be awake.

He knocks three times and when receiving no response, quietly opens the door to find the room unoccupied. Concern makes his chest tighten until he hears movement in the bathroom, the sound of water going down the drain, and he realizes he must have arrived just as Yuuri finished bathing. Viktor toes off his shoes and sits at the edge of the bed, back to the bathroom, idly tracing the lines of his palms with his fingers.

“Viktor?”

The prince turns his head immediately to see Yuuri, clad in a bathrobe, watching him with surprise and curiosity. Viktor smiles big. “Hello, Yuuri.”

“What are you doing here?” There’s nothing accusatory in Yuuri’s voice, he’s genuinely surprised, probably not expecting Viktor to turn up out of the blue. Viktor rises to his feet, slowly moving around the bed but keeping distance between them for now.

He lets himself look at Yuuri, who is hugging the robe tighter around himself, whose hair is still a little damp and mussed up from being dried with a towel, whose skin is tinged pink from the bath. Heat coils in Viktor’s gut, a sudden pang of _want_ shooting through him, but he holds himself back.

“I wanted to see you,” he says, and it’s true.

“How did you get here?” Yuuri hasn’t moved. “Without being caught?”

“Mila was kind enough to escort me most of the way,” he explains. Yuuri nods slowly in understanding.

“Are you staying tonight then?” There’s something in Yuuri’s voice then that Viktor can’t put a name on just yet, as it’s so faint and difficult to pick up on.

Viktor huffs out a laugh. “If you’ll have me.”

“Yes,” Yuuri says without missing a beat, then flushes, taken aback by how loud his voice had gotten and how eager he must have sounded. The dragon swallows. “The bed is too small, though.”

That’s true. The bed is only really made for one person. In the past this room tended to be used by single, visiting noblemen after all. It would be a tight fit, and while he would love to hold Yuuri close to him when he sleeps he doesn’t want to push his boundaries. As close as they’ve grown, Yuuri is still hesitant and nervous at times. Viktor doesn’t pressure him, but he does give a few small pushes every now and then.

“I’ll take the chair, then.” And Viktor takes a step for the plush chair in question.

“Wait--” Viktor stops in his tracks when Yuuri speaks again. The dragon is watching him, still not having moved, and is shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. There’s something he wants to say, that much Viktor can tell, but whatever it is he can’t seem to find the words to say it. Yuuri inhales, “You… don’t have to. I… we…”

Yuuri is gesturing to the bed with one hand like that’s supposed explain everything he’s trying to say. He keeps the bathrobe closed with his other, but it’s not doing much to chase away the heat growing. At this rate, it might be better for him to sleep on the chair.

When Yuuri bites his lip nervously, Viktor can’t help but watch, and that’s not lost on Yuuri who immediately releases his lip.

“Yuuri, I…” He trails off, unsure.

“Viktor, can you… come here, for just a moment?” Yuuri watches him carefully, his body language suddenly unreadable and for once, his face. It’s a little irritating, but Viktor walks to him nonetheless, keeping a foot of space between them. Yuuri blinks at him, and suddenly he looks a little frustrated. He rocks forward onto his toes then back onto his heels. It’s… _impatient._ But still Yuuri says nothing, doesn’t say what’s on his mind.

Viktor is prepared to ask what’s the matter but Yuuri speaks first and it sends Viktor’s mind reeling, “If you want to kiss me, you can.”

Mouth agape, Viktor stares at him and blinks owlishly. It’s not something Yuuri’s never said before, but in that moment it caught him off guard. Still, it’s explicit permission, and that’s all Viktor needs for this.

He takes hold of Yuuri’s face and Yuuri tilts his head up enough to meet Viktor in a kiss. One hand still keeping his robe closed, the other curls into the front of his shirt. Yuuri’s skin is warm under his fingers, even more so from his recent bath, and he smells like the vanilla and honey and lavender soaps.

 

*****

 

Their kisses grow open-mouthed quickly; they both press closer to one another. A soft sound from Yuuri when their tongues brush makes white-hot heat shoot southward. Viktor wants to learn how to get him to make more sounds like that, but only if Yuuri will let him, and with how eagerly Yuuri is now pressing against him (but continues to hold that damn bathrobe shut) and how optimistically he kisses Viktor.

Viktor’s hands drop to hold Yuuri’s waist through the soft fabric of the robe. He wants to feel the skin underneath, he wants Yuuri completely bare and himself to be equally so, wants the heat of his skin against his.

Yuuri moans again when Viktor runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth. The prince can feel the brush of sharp canines against his lips, but not hard enough to hurt him. Yuuri tries to be careful about that.

They break away from the kiss briefly. Yuuri is flushed red from more than just his bath, his eyes wide and pupils blown, his lips wet and reddened, chest heaving.

“Viktor,” his voice is barely above a whisper, “Do you want me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Viktor laughs breathlessly.

“Well, I want you.” Hearing that from Yuuri’s mouth makes him burn hotter than before. Viktor squeezes his waist, shivering at the hitch of Yuuri’s breath.

“Are you sure?” Viktor searches his face. He won’t continue if Yuuri isn’t entirely sure on this, and he doesn’t want Yuuri doing this just for Viktor’s sake. The growing tightness of his trousers is getting unbearable. The images his brain is providing him of Yuuri spread out on Viktor’s bed, blushing and panting and whimpering Viktor’s name isn’t helping him keep control of his arousal in the slightest.

Yuuri answers him with another kiss or at least tries. He gets a little too eager and their noses squish and teeth knock together and Viktor winces at the brief spark dull pain. The dragon jerks back, eyes wide, and his blush turns into one of embarrassment.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he splutters, but Viktor is trying to muffle his laughter by biting down on his lip. It must be apparent in his eyes, however, with how Yuuri is relaxing and smiling within an instant. “But, uh-- yes, I’m sure.”

The dragon steps forward again and Viktor fits their lips together. The bathrobe finally falls open, Yuuri sliding both of his hands over Viktor’s shoulders while Viktor backs him up slowly, pushing the robe off of his shoulders and leaving him completely exposed. Viktor doesn’t look at him just yet, just admires how wonderfully they fit together, Yuuri shivering beneath his hands, his skin getting hotter by the moment.

Their positions are flipped suddenly, Yuuri spinning him around so he’s the one pushing Viktor back. The back of the prince’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and Yuuri shoves him for him to fall back on the bed.

But they both seem to have severely overestimated the size of the bed because as soon as Viktor hits the bed he’s toppling over the opposite edge. He manages to catch himself on his elbows before his head can hit the floor. Viktor, halfway on the floor with his calves on the bed, blinks up at Yuuri from over his toes. Yuuri is staring at him, looking more than a little mortified, his face pale and he has that look on his face that says he’s about to let out a long, _long_ string of apologies.

Until Viktor bursts out laughing, dropping his head back. His fringe falls away from his face, lashes fluttering as he closes his eyes and he hears a confused sound from above where Yuuri is watching him.

Whatever Yuuri might have been expecting from all of this, well, the reality is far different than fantasy, especially when it comes to your very first time. Viktor has plenty of experience for the both of them, but even he isn’t without his occasional blunders.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri squeaks, clambering onto the bed and sitting up on his knees. Viktor would appreciate the view more were it not for his current place on the floor. With a deep breath, Viktor manages to stifle his giggles enough so he can slip his legs off of the bed and push himself into a sitting position next to the bed. Yuuri still looks embarrassed, worry shining in his eyes.

Viktor props his elbows up on the edge of the bed, resting his chin in his hands. “I’m fine, Yuuri.” One hand reaches out and strokes along Yuuri’s flank slowly. The dragon doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t seem very convinced, eyes searching Viktor’s face until the prince sighs and pushes himself up. Viktor places his palms flat on the bed and leans forward, his nose brushing with Yuuri’s.

“It’s not going to be perfect,” he assures Yuuri, “But it will be good, I promise.”

Yuuri eyes him warily but sighs and nods. They kiss again, brief and soft. “Lie down for me, Yuuri.”

Slowly, almost shyly, Yuuri moves around on his knees and lies back with his head against the pillows. Viktor rests one knee against the edge of the bed, eyes roaming along the length of Yuuri’s naked body illuminated by the golden lamplight.

He’s beautiful, his body lithe but firm with muscle, still a bit soft around his belly and thighs. Yuuri squeezes his legs shut, one arm coming up in an attempt to hide his chest from view. Those long, jagged scars stand out against the rest of Yuuri’s skin, and Yuuri is trying to hide those from Viktor’s eyes as well. Viktor smiles warmly down at him, climbing onto the bed to straddle his legs.

“Now’s not the time to get so self-conscious, _solnyshko._ ” Viktor coaxes Yuuri’s arm away from his scars and the dragon instead moves his hand to hold onto the prince’s bicep. He runs his hands up and down Yuuri’s sides, fingers lingering on the scars, the contact to the tender skin making Yuuri shiver. Then he wiggles his finger into his ribs and Yuuri squawks in surprise, smacking his hand away and Viktor laughs again. “Help me with my clothes.”

Yuuri pushes himself up onto one elbow. His other arm falls away from his chest while he uses both hands to unbutton Viktor’s shirt, his fingers shaking, then smoothing across Viktor’s chest once it’s exposed to the air. Viktor shrugs the shirt off and drops it onto the floor.

“I’ve thought about this before,” Yuuri breathes and Viktor pauses. There must be the most gobsmacked expression on his face because Yuuri starts giggling behind his hand.

“What?” Is all Viktor can think to say.

“I’ve thought about this,” Yuuri repeats, “About… you, and me. Like this. When I…” He bites his lip, his amusement turning into embarrassment.

It finally clicks, but Viktor’s brain almost shuts down completely upon the revelation. Somehow, that’s an image he never expected. Yuuri lying in this very bed, hand between his legs, pleasuring himself to the thought of something like _this._ To the thought of _Viktor._ And the want coiling in his belly is so unbearable he struggles to breathe.

There are hands on his neck then, snapping him out of his shock, pulling him in. Yuuri kisses him hard, hungrily, their teeth clicking together and Viktor returns it with equal fervor while simultaneously trying to work on unbuttoning his pants. It’s a little hard with Yuuri now placing kisses along his jaw, up to his ear, then down his pulse to mouth at his throat. There’s a light scrape of sharp teeth over the skin and Viktor groans, grabbing at Yuuri’s hips to lift them from the bed and press his thigh between Yuuri’s.

The sudden pressure against the throbbing heat between Yuuri’s legs evidently startles the dragon, with how he’s suddenly digging his teeth into Viktor’s shoulder with a whine. Viktor curses and Yuuri releases immediately, staring in mild horror at the reddened mark he left on Viktor’s skin. Viktor lifts his hand to brush his fingers over the bite mark, feeling the indentations in his skin where fangs almost broke through.

“I’m sorry.” How many times is Yuuri going to apologize tonight? Viktor presses a finger to his lips with a soft ‘shhh’ and Yuuri nods slowly.

There’s a damp patch forming on his trouser leg where his thigh is pressed between Yuuri’s. His own arousal throbs in response, straining against his undergarments.

Then he realizes something.

“Oh, I think I’ve made a bit of a mistake.” Viktor rubs the side of his neck.

“What do you mean?” Yuuri’s eyes widen and he’s suddenly frantic, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Have I done something--”

“No! No, Yuuri, of course not.” He’s squeezing Yuuri’s thighs then rubbing them. “I didn’t bring… anything.”

“What?”

Right, Yuuri probably wouldn’t know about those little details. “Ah, well…” He clears his throat. “To make this safer.”

Yuuri is squinting at him in confusion.

“There’s this… um, well. Most men use these rubber… er…” How does he explain this? “I would put it over _this,_ ” he gestures between his legs and Yuuri quirks a brow, “to decrease the risk of making my partner...  pregnant, should they have the correct… parts.” _Which you do._ That doesn’t need to be said.

“Is that even possible? Since I’m…” Yuuri trails off.

“No need to take any risks this time.” He pushes Yuuri back down against the bed by the shoulder. “There are other reasons they’re used, but let’s not concern ourselves with it right now. Besides…” He runs a finger along the length of Yuuri’s thighs. “There are many other things we can do.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to say something, then decides against it. “Show me, then.” It sounds a little like a challenge, and Viktor isn’t one to back down from the challenge. There’s plenty of things he wants to do with -- and to -- Yuuri, after all.

“Just lie back and let me take care of it,” Viktor hums. “Tell me if I should stop.” Silver hair tickles against Yuuri’s skin when Viktor lowers his head to kiss against his jaw, trailing down his neck and nipping here and there. When he reaches Yuuri’s collarbone he bites down lightly without warning and Yuuri grunts in surprise but doesn’t pull away or protest, melting beneath Viktor when the prince begins sucking at the one spot until it leaves an angry red mark. He gives it a lick, then a little kiss, and kisses further down.

Fringe spills across Yuuri’s chest, pooling over his skin and making him shiver. Viktor noses against one small breast, brushing his teeth over the skin and giving it a sloppy kiss. He lifts his head enough to look Yuuri in the eye while he rolls one peaked brown nipple between his index finger and thumb, smiling lazily.

“Viktor--” Yuuri is trembling and the wetness against his leg is growing. Viktor lightly scrapes the end of his blunt thumbnail across the nipple and Yuuri squirms. With a smile the prince bows his head again to take the nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it, his other hand taking hold of the opposite breast and squeezing, rolling the flesh in his palm and giving the nipple a pinch. “Ow--!”

Viktor reels back immediately. Yuuri has his hand covering the pinched nipple and is giving Viktor the most offended look imaginable. “Don’t _do_ that so hard.”

“Ah, s-sorry.” Now it’s his turn to apologize. Yuuri huffs and smiles a little, then pulls his hand away, relaxing back against the bed. Viktor clears his throat, his cheeks feeling very warm.

At least Yuuri isn’t mad. Viktor makes a mental note of where Yuuri is the most sensitive so far, checking his chest off as high on the list.

He resumes pressing kisses down Yuuri’s sternum, pausing to adjust their position as best he can on the narrow bed. “Sit up a little, Yuuri,” he mutters against his skin, and Yuuri complies, wiggling around until he’s propped up against the headboard. It gives Viktor room to rest on his belly while he kisses a trail down Yuuri’s abdomen and nips around his navel. Yuuri is squirming again, and Viktor glances up to his face curiously.

Yuuri’s _laughing._

Viktor didn’t really consider that Yuuri’s belly would still be ticklish even from kisses and licks. It’s… cute. Yuuri trembles from his giggles and that only prompts Viktor to nuzzle into his belly and kiss him more.

A loud squeal, accompanied by a vulgar farting sound, fills the room. Yuuri just about kicks Viktor off of the bed when he blows a raspberry into his belly. He squeaks and laughs and pushes at Viktor’s shoulders, heels digging into the sheets. “Stooop! Stop it!”

One more kiss to his belly button is given. Viktor rests his cheek against Yuuri’s heaving abdomen.

“It was cute,” Viktor states casually.

Yuuri tilts his head back, trying to catch his breath. “You know, doing this, I had been expecting something more…” He pauses.

“Serious?”

“Yes.”

Viktor grins and nuzzles into Yuuri’s belly again. Yuuri wiggles. “Do you want it to be?”

There are a few beats of silence. Yuuri takes in a deep breath and curls his fingers into the hair on the back of Viktor’s head. “N-no. I like this. It feels more…” He trails off again, having some difficulty finding the right words. “Fun.”

“Isn’t it?” Viktor says in a song-song voice, then drops his face between Yuuri’s thighs.

“V-Viktor!” Yuuri gives a startled yelp and Viktor chuckles against the skin of his inner thigh.

He kisses the soft flesh. “Not good?” His voice is a little muffled from his lips against Yuuri’s leg and his face hidden from view. Yuuri whines when Viktor bites down.

“No-- no, no, it’s fine. It’s good. Keep- keep going.”

Viktor doesn’t need to be told twice. He goes to happily marking up the inside of Yuuri’s thighs, purposely growing so close to where Yuuri wants it most then drawing away again. Yuuri is getting impatient, his whimpers mixing in with growls, and Viktor grinds against the bedsheets in response, his cock still trapped in the confines of his trousers and underwear. But he focuses on Yuuri for now. Viktor will come later -- no pun intended.

“This might feel strange at first,” he says in warning. Viktor’s breath puffs out over the damp heat between Yuuri’s legs and Yuuri shivers. He wonders if he tastes as good down here as his hot little mouth does. “Ready?”

He lets Yuuri takes a few deep breaths. There are fingers stroking over and over at the nape of his neck. Viktor flutters his eyes shut.”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

Pulling Yuuri’s thighs further apart, he keeps a firm grip on one while the other hand runs down Yuuri’s inner thigh. Viktor leans in and gives an experimental lick. Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat and his thighs tense up in surprise. Viktor rubs along one soothingly and when Yuuri relaxes Viktor gives another lick, then another. Slow, with the tip of his tongue, up the length of Yuuri’s slit right to his clit. When Yuuri doesn’t tell him to stop, doesn’t squirm away, Viktor brushes his teeth over the clit then takes it into his mouth. A gasp sounds from above him and Viktor tries not to laugh. His tongue presses hard to Yuuri’s clit, circling around it and sucking gently. Yuuri mewls loudly in response. He pulls off, kissing down to his slit again and dragging the flat of his tongue all the way back up.

Yuuri arches, his thighs twitch with the effort of not clamping around Viktor’s head. That hand at the nape of his neck is now curled tightly into Viktor’s hair, holding onto him as if he was a lifeline. Viktor laps and kisses at him eagerly, he slides his hands around to cup Yuuri’s ass and lift it for a better angle. The little whimpers and gasps Yuuri makes go straight to Viktor’s cock, and he grinds back down on the bed again with a groan.

He’s so hot against Viktor’s tongue, as hot as his mouth, and he tastes divine. Viktor moans again, knowing the vibrations will go right through Yuuri, and Yuuri lets out a moan mixed with a laugh.

“T-tickles a little,” he manages to say and Viktor smiles against him. He winds one hand around to part Yuuri’s folds with his index and middle fingers, tongue dragging along him in long, repetitive strokes that have Yuuri whining and trembling. “Viktor, yes, _yes.”_

Viktor learns now that Yuuri isn’t very loud. Noisy, certainly, but he keeps the volume of his voice relatively soft. Maybe it’d be different when Viktor can finally bury himself into Yuuri’s wet, burning heat. He groans again at the thought of how Yuuri would feel, the little noises Yuuri would make and how he’d beg and chant Viktor’s name while Viktor fucked him slow, or hard, or any way that Yuuri might want it.

There’s another tug at his hair. Yuuri’s hips are rolling against Viktor’s tongue, grinding against his mouth and Viktor is happy to let it happen. He eats Yuuri out enthusiastically and thinks that this is something he’d gladly do for hours if that’s what Yuuri wanted.

“I- I-- V-v-vi-vik-- haa, I--” Yuuri’s losing his grasp on any language it seems, being reduced to soft stuttering moans and whines. His hips are twitching now, his thighs clenching, and Yuuri cums with a sob and Viktor continues on right through it until Yuuri is pushing at his shoulders to get him to stop.

He pushes himself up to his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and smiling sweetly at a very red-faced Yuuri, whose eyelids are heavy and lips wet and red from him licking and biting at them. Yuuri slips a hand between his legs, gives a cautious rub to his clit and shudders. most likely at the sensitivity left by his orgasm. Viktor sees how his thighs still tremble and his chest still heaves.

“Wow,” Viktor breathes, then leans forward with a grin and Yuuri meets him halfway. They kiss slowly, Viktor pulling Yuuri against him as they do and maneuvering them so they’re both lying on the bed. It’s a very tight fit, but it’ll do. Yuuri still on his back, Viktor on his side and pressed close to him, their legs tangled. He cradles the back of Yuuri’s head, tucking it beneath his own.

“Was that okay?” He strokes Yuuri’s thigh, feeling the tremble in it slowly fade away. Yuuri’s completely relaxed against him; satisfied, sleepy, and warm.

“Mmhm,” Yuuri responds. There’s a low rumbling coming from the dragon, a soft pleased sound Viktor hears better with them settled in so close. He’s _purring!_ Viktor would be absolutely giddy and fawning over it openly if it happened any other time, but he doesn’t want to risk ruining the moment and annoying Yuuri by pointing it out.

“What about you?” Yuuri murmurs sleepily. The dragon’s leg moves slightly and Viktor is suddenly acutely aware of how very hard he still is, pressed against Yuuri’s hip.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it on my own,” Viktor insists. He’d rather let Yuuri rest, he’s fine with finishing in the bathroom.

But Yuuri is apparently not having that. He squirms and Viktor grimaces when he presses against his still clothed erection again.

“My hand?” Yuuri offers, reaching down to ghost his fingers over the tent in Viktor’s trousers.

“You really don’t--”

“Against my leg, then,” and Yuuri doesn’t sound like he wants to be argued with. Viktor bites his lip, then gives in. Rubbing off on Yuuri’s leg sounds extremely enticing right now anyway, after feeling the soft, warm skin of his thighs.

The prince curses quietly and fiddles with his pants, managing to kick them off. Yuuri is the one to adjust their position, turning a little onto his side and pressing his thigh beneath Viktor’s leg, unfazed by the sight and feel of his cock for now. Viktor grinds forward with a groan and his own leg slide between Yuuri’s, who grinds down on it appreciatively.

They gasp into one another’s mouths as they move against each other, frantic and greedy. Viktor moves his hands around to squeeze at Yuuri’s ass, pulling him down harder against his thigh while he grinds desperately against him.

Yuuri cums again with a high-pitched sigh and Viktor finishes only seconds after, reaching down to milk the rest of his release into his fist until he feels himself begin to soften. And as much as he doesn’t want to move, he knows he has to. Even when Yuuri whines in protest when he starts to pull away.

“I’ll just be a moment, _solnyshko._ Don’t worry.” He manages to pry Yuuri off of him long enough to pad on shaky legs to the bathroom where he fills the basin with warm water and cleans the cum from his hand, using a wet rag to wipe at any on his abdomen and Yuuri’s release on his thigh. He slips from the bathroom and finds Yuuri already dozing off, and the dragon stirs when Viktor uses the rag to clean off his cum from his belly.

 

*****

 

He takes a minute to gather up his discarded clothes and set them on the chair for later, then partially opens the curtains in front of the balcony doors to let moonlight spill in.

When Viktor returns to the bed, Yuuri is fast asleep, his face soft and a bead of drool forming at the corner of his mouth. His lips are still a little red, and the large bruise left behind by Viktor’s mouth stands out against his collarbone. Soon, he wants Yuuri to leave marks like that on him. The bite mark on his shoulder isn’t that noticeable, and will probably fade over the next few days.

Viktor smiles down at him. He pulls the blanket over Yuuri then slips beneath it himself, reaching over to shut the lamp off. Yuuri grumbles in his sleep and wiggles closer to Viktor, who pulls him in close enough that the dragon is lying mostly on top of him rather than the bed. Dark hair tickles against his chest and he smiles sleepily, carding his fingers through it, admiring how it catches the moonlight.

 _I love you._ He doesn’t say it, not yet. It will have to wait for the right moment. For now, he lets Yuuri sleep, both still warm and content from the afterglow, and he succumbs to sleep not long after.

 

\---

 

The sun has just begun to rise when Yuuri stirs. He really doesn’t want to move, because whatever he’s sleeping on is too warm and comfortable. Yuuri blinks blearily, lifting his head, squinting at the sight of Viktor sleeping there. In his bed. And they’re both naked. His sleepy brain slowly regains memories of a few hours prior and heat prickles at his cheeks. That happened. Gods, that _actually happened._ It wasn’t just his imagination. It wasn’t a dream. It was better than any fantasy he might have had about the prince.

But he remembers there are other things that require his attention.

Carefully he manages to disentangle himself from Viktor without waking the prince up. Yuuri does his business in the bathroom and seriously considers going back to sleep for a few hours, but instead makes a beeline for the bedside table where he had tucked that small note given to him by the young man sent by Minako into the top drawer. He hadn’t read it last night, he didn’t have the opportunity when Viktor showed up.

He pulls the paper out and saunters across the room, digging out a simple robe for him to wear. He ties it around the middle and steps out onto the balcony, shivering at the rush of cool air of an early autumn morning. With his elbows on the balustrade, he opens up the note and scans the tidy writing, reading over it a few times.

 

_Royal Cemetery_

_Half past midnight 30 Aug_

_Behind king’s grave_

_Don’t be followed_

 

  * ****O.M.****



 

 

Yuuri blinks at the note slowly. His reading isn’t the best just yet, but he can read this, though ‘cemetery’ tripped him up for a moment until he saw ‘grave’. Sighing, he curls his fingers around the note and folds his arms over his chest, turning his gaze to the rising sun and the golden light it casts over the palace grounds.

“You’re up early,” comes a voice from behind him. Yuuri squeaks in surprise but relaxes upon realizing it’s just Viktor who presses up against his back and winds his arms around him, peppering kisses to the nape of his neck.

“Want me to come back to bed?” Yuuri chuckles, brushing his fingertips over Viktor’s knuckles. His grip around the note in the other hand tightens. “You’re not even wearing your underwear.”

“I like the breeze,” Viktor purrs, hugging Yuuri closer. “Please, come back to bed, it’s warm there.”

Yuuri can’t resist Viktor’s tone and the not-so-hidden meaning of his words. With a smile, he follows Viktor back into the bedroom, shedding the robe, hiding the crumpled note in the pile of fabric, and lets himself get lost in Viktor’s kisses and the feeling of his hands for the remainder of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: idk if i'll be able to write much while i'm at my dad's :/  
> me: writes a 15.5k word update
> 
> i'm kinda shy posting this because i haven't... written smut in a fic and posted it in a long time lmao. i hope it's ok
> 
> here's a little more art!
> 
> a very soft picture of yuuri from the ending of chapter 4 by yacchans on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/yachhans/status/863611173245247489)! i meant to link it last chapter but i'm a FOOL and forgot.
> 
> next chapter won't have as much viktor/yuuri interaction, and i want to get the plot moving faster haha i've been dragging it on too long. also i'm curious if there's any interactions you'd like to see? between certain characters, i mean. some characters already have their roles determined but a lot of this fic isn't going as initially planned, so... i might see what i can fit in!
> 
> comments, etc are very much appreciated! 
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> as usual, my twitter is [here](http://twitter.com/yuurigif)! i'll post about updates there! you can ask me questions or just talk to me!  
> my tumblr is [here](http://yuuriofficial.tumblr.com), if you would prefer to ask questions anonymously.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragons, as far as Yuuri knows, never had something like graves. Or, they used to, before their race was struck from the skies and almost completely wiped out. It had begun to feel like the entire world had become their graveyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick note, i went and edited the past few chapters and changed where it mentions yuuri having scales to fur, since it definitely fits more design-wise.
> 
> it was hard to get this chapter the way i liked it, and i'm still not very pleased with it, so i hope it's okay.

Everything hits him at once.

Yuuri’s brain feels like it’s caught in a hurricane, chaotic and destructive; it’s sitting in a tiny, rickety boat made of the little bits of rationality he currently has left, surrounded on all sides by the tempestuous waves of his sea of thoughts.

If it had been difficult for others to tell something has been bothering him, it’s _definitely_ obvious now. Madame Baranovskaya had practically banished him from her dance lessons that morning until he could pull himself together since he kept stumbling, missing almost every step, and every one of her instructions went through one ear and out of the other. Phichit had to sit with him for two hours and guide him through breathing exercises. And _Viktor,_ oh, Viktor… Yuuri feels terrible, terrible for avoiding him. If only he could tell him everything, but that could ruin all his chances of learning the things he wants desperately to know.

Whenever someone would ask him what’s wrong his throat closed up. He would shy away, his shoulders squared and tense, coiled like he was ready to lash out. That dark shroud over him was enough for everyone else to finally leave him be, and he doesn’t know whether he’s thankful for that or upset that he’s been left alone with his head screaming at him from all sides.

It’s the twenty-ninth of August.

In a few hours time, when the clock strikes midnight and it becomes the thirtieth, he will have to slip out from the palace without being spotted and make his way to the Royal Cemetery to meet _her._ Minako. It was something that had been on his mind since only a few nights ago where he had found her in his room, but with everything else going on, every single possible risk when it came to meeting her was drowned out by so many of his other thoughts. The next day he had spent most of his time in the city with Viktor, almost forgetting about her until her messenger approached him in that boutique and pressed a note into his palm. Then once they returned to the palace, spending supper with Viktor and the Queen chased his worries away for a small amount of time. He had thought he would spend the rest of the night wide awake, eaten up with worry until Viktor arrived and…

They made love, or, close to it. They were unable to completely join due to Viktor’s insistence on not taking risks without the proper precautions. It was wonderful regardless, and it was the most peace he’s known for the past few weeks. The most he’s known for months, he thinks. But he knew that peace, for now, was fleeting. He couldn’t run away from what he was meant to do forever when he finally read that note. Minako would surely find him again if he didn’t show up at the meeting place.

What if this was just a ruse? A trick? Minako knows what he is, there’s no doubt about that. Seung-gil does, too, if Minako knows. Who _else_ knows, and he’s completely unaware of their knowledge? But it could very easily be a trap. What if when he arrives, he is ambushed by her and many other humans, captured and carted across countries in a cage too small, right to his death? She had said she spent months tracking him down, but for what? ‘I’ll tell you everything soon.’ But Yuuri is desperate, desperate to know what she knows. If she can tell him about the sickness that still plagues him, dulled by medicine. Why he’s been hearing an echo from his past since that sickness began. On the chance she is honest, that this isn’t a trap, then he could learn, and he feels stupid and foolish for knowing he’s going to go through with it anyway regardless of the risks. If only he could bring someone along, someone discreet, but he’s aware Minako is no idiot. She would know.

Yuuri can’t bring himself to touch his supper. It was brought up by Phichit personally since Phichit was the one person he would allow into his room in his current state of mind. But Phichit is still busy, he can’t stay for long but stays just long _enough_ to force Yuuri to take just a few bites of beef stew. Yet the moment he slips out, Yuuri sets the bowl aside and sips his tea - the one thing he feels he can really keep down - while the soup cools and congeals. The sun still shines outside even as it grows later in the day, but the days are going to grow shorter soon. In a few months, the outside will be swallowed in nighttime darkness at this same time every day. It’s not something he ever really noticed or _cared_ about, before humans.

After the fourth cup of tea, he stands and gives his now cold, barely touched soup a guilty glance. It’s not good to hold off on eating, he knows that, but depending on the events that may or may not take place in just a few hours time, he doesn’t want to risk vomiting up his supper out of fear and panic.

He wants to see Viktor after avoiding him all day, he truly does, but it’s too late now. Viktor is in a meeting with a representative from some country across the sea to the west and will most likely eat his own supper and go straight to sleep when it is finished. And as tempting as sneaking off to the prince’s chambers before he gets there and curling up snugly and happily beneath the blankets sounds, he can’t. Not tonight.

He’s so scared.

Scared that somehow, someway, at the end of the night he’ll be right back where he was before he met Viktor. That humans will be the cause of his pain once again.

There’s a crushing sense of guilt weighing down on his shoulders. After all the things humans had put Yuuri through, he still allowed himself to mingle with them under the pretense he was one of them. He fell in love with one of them. They have all been so kind to him, such a stark contrast to those that ripped him from his home. Queen Nikiforova, Phichit, Yuuko, Yuri…

He still can’t bring himself to trust them entirely.

Not even…

Yuuri sucks in a deep breath.

The one thing Minako never told Yuuri was how to slip past the guards so he could get to the Cemetery in the first place. He knows where it is; it’s all the way on the other side of the palace grounds. That just makes it more difficult. There are the secret passageways beneath the palace, but he’s only ever used them to get to Viktor’s chambers, and even then that was only two times. The thought of getting lost in that network of tunnels isn’t a very appealing one. He can’t just ask a servant either, even if they’d know the way best. It’s more than a little suspicious to ask for directions to navigate beneath the palace to get to the Cemetery in the dead of night.

Yuuri doesn’t know how long he spends pacing up and down his room, but he stops once night falls. After quickly bathing, knocking back two more cups of cold tea, and dressing, he sits down at the end of the bed and stares at the opened balcony doors. The autumn wind trickles into the room, making him shiver and draw his dark jacket around him. Brown eyes travel to the clock on the wall. He still has difficulty with telling time, but he can, at least, tell there is somewhere around two hours before he should be departing.

He really doesn’t want to go. He wants to hide away, away from the possible dangers of all of this. Minako has been so vague with him, to anyone else she would appear entirely untrustworthy, and she _does;_ however, there is still something about her that draws Yuuri towards her. He doesn’t know how to describe it, but that something is what keeps him from continuing to sit there in his room two hours later.

The balcony doors are clicked shut, the curtains drawn over them. He puts his glasses on and checks over his clothing. Dark, plain, unassuming. Difficult to spot at night. It helps he’s become rather light on his feet in this form; quick and graceful and quiet. There’s a knife tucked beneath his cloak. Yuuri doesn’t really know much about fighting with human weapons just yet, but he’s sure he’s able to slash and stab very well if it ever came down to it. There’s no guarantee that if he were to be attacked that he’d be able to shift fast enough to use his teeth and claws and flames.

If everything goes well, which he’s not sure it will but sure hopes it will, then he won’t need it.

What’s good about the east wing is that unlike the west, where Viktor and Queen Sofiya’s chambers reside, it’s relatively quiet. There aren’t many visiting nobles or politicians seeking an audience with the Queen or Viktor as of right now, just Yuuri, so there aren’t as many guards to worry about. He is able to make his way down the corridor swiftly, the lights dimmed and no sound beside his breathing.

When he reaches the first floor he becomes more cautious. There’s a little more sound, distant footsteps in distant corridors but not much else. After one turn, then another, he pauses again. All along this corridor is service rooms. The kitchens carry the faint leftover smells from supper, and it makes his stomach growl. Yuuri somewhat regrets not eating his meal.

There’s an entrance into the passageways in a storage room somewhere along this corridor that he discovered by chance just the other day when poking around, but he hasn’t had the chance to use it yet. Yuuri takes a quick look around and waits until any footsteps, no matter how distant, have faded, then ducks his head and sticks close to the left wall as he makes his way along the length of the corridor.

The sound of the kitchen doors opening after he passes them doesn’t register until it’s too late. Thin fingers clamp around his wrist and Yuuri digs his teeth into his tongue hard enough to draw blood to stop himself from crying out. He whips around, drawing his knife out from beneath his cloak and prepared to strike his assailant--

Oh.

It’s just Yuri Plisetsky, staring at him suspiciously, but the young Marquess’ eyes widen upon catching sight of the weapon. Instead of relinquishing his grip on Yuuri, he tightens it instead. Yuuri doesn’t try to wrench his arm away just yet, but he _does_ slip the knife back into its hiding place slowly.

“You’re sneaking around again,” the boy hisses. Maybe he’d be a little more intimidating if there wasn’t a cinnamon bun in his other hand and his hair wasn’t messy from sleep. If Yuuri were caught by anyone else, he might be more concerned.

For all Yura knows, he’s just off to visit Viktor again. Yuuri lets himself relax with a mild smile.

“But so are you.” The dragon nods to the cinnamon bun. Yura’s face instantly turns a bright pink and he yanks his hand away. Yuuri rubs at his wrist. “Isn’t your room far from here?”

“I was hungry,” Yura mutters. He waves the bun at Yuuri, then takes a big bite out of it. Around his mouthful he says, “Where are you going this time?”

The lie comes easily, because it’s the most _obvious_ answer to anyone, “To see Viktor.”

Yura eyes him up and down. He swallows his mouthful and his lip curls like he’s just smelled something rather foul. It’s not the same look of distaste Yura would show when it came to Yuuri and Viktor, it’s always easy to tell considering how childishly offended it is. Like two adults in love were the most terrible, scandalous thing in the world.

No, this is different. The look makes Yuuri’s insides tighten up.

“You’re going to see Viktor,” he says flatly, “dressed like that while carrying a knife?”

Yuuri opens his mouth to speak but Yura cuts in fast, “You can stop treating me like a stupid kid, you know. You’ve been acting weird all day, and now you’re like… _this._ ” He gestures to Yuuri with the hand holding the half-eaten pastry. Taking another big bite, like he’s a wild animal ripping into its prey, Yura stomps forward until he and Yuuri are barely an inch apart. There is suspicion and anger flickering in those green eyes. Yuuri is prepared to bolt back to his room. He knows how close Yura is to Viktor, and by extension, the Queen. He knows if Yura wanted to, he’d tell them about this, and then suspicion would fall onto Yuuri, and he’d be in even more danger.

“Take me wherever you’re going,” Yura suddenly demands, and Yuuri is taken aback. He stares wide-eyed at the teenager because _that_ was not what he was expecting. Yura watches him expectantly, wiping crumbs from his lips with the back of his hand. There’s not a lot of things he can do here. Threatening to report the fact Yura’s been sneaking around at night without an escort would only reveal _Yuuri_ has been sneaking around as well. He could go back to his room, but he’d rather not have Minako - who is already a potential threat - angry with him. Saying ‘no’ is useless because he knows Yura would come along anyway because he doesn’t take no for an answer. Saying ‘yes’... that’s just endangering Yura’s life, if Minako does mean harm, and it means Yura would learn everything. And Yuuri was told to come alone.

Bringing a hot-headed fifteen-year-old human boy isn’t really guaranteed to go over well.

“You’re not even dressed to go anywhere,” Yuuri says, taking a step back and gesturing to Yura still clad in his sleepwear. He can’t bring himself to argue that he really _is_ going to Viktor’s chambers because Yura _isn’t_ stupid. Yura is perceptive, wildly intelligent for his age despite his fiery temper and sharp tongue. But he’s still just a boy. A little human boy with so many years ahead of him. Yuuri doesn’t want to put him at risk, because on the off chance Yura _doesn’t_ care about him being, well, a dragon, if Yuuri’s identity were revealed and someone found out Yura knew, he would suffer the harsh consequences. “At least go to your chambers and change.”

It’s possible he could trick Yura by accompanying him to his chambers and leaving in the process of the boy changing, slipping away before he can catch him. It’s worth a try, at least.

Yura looks like he wants to protest but decides against it. “Fine. Come on.”

The boy shoves the last of the bun into his mouth and grabs Yuuri’s wrist with sticky fingers, yanking him down the corridor and right into the storage room Yuuri had been headed towards in the first place. Yura tugs on a lever disguised as a lamp on the wall, and a doorway slides open before them.

“You keep getting weirder every day,” Yura mutters as he all but drags Yuuri through the passageways.

Yuuri blinks. “Um, I’m sorry?”

“And you’re _always_ apologizing.”

“Sorry,” it slips out without Yuuri thinking about it and he blushes. Yura snorts.

“Whatever. Stop talking.”

So Yuuri does. The remainder of the walk through the passages is spent in silence outside of Yura’s grumbling, something about Yuuri being weird and Viktor being stupid and how that meant they were perfect for each other.

They arrive in the parlor of the west wing. Yura falls completely silent and slips quietly across the carpets. Yuuri can senses humans out in the corridor. How are they to get into Yura’s room at all without being caught? How did Yura leave his in the first place?

He gets his answer when Yura releases his wrist and lifts the bottom of a heavy tapestry emblazoned with the Nikiforov family crest, revealing a small doorway in the wall. It’s easy to miss even without the tapestry, blending in easily with the rest of the wall save for the tiny silver knob. Yura throws Yuuri an expectant look then opens the door, ducking beneath the tapestry and slipping inside.

This would be the perfect time for Yuuri to bolt. He could slip back into the passageways and find his way to the Cemetery. He glances at the clock on the parlor wall. He’s expected to be at the meeting place in ten minutes. Yuuri glances back to the tapestry which has fallen back into place over the secret door.

For whatever reason, he walks to the wall, pulls the tapestry aside, opens the door and walks through.

It connects directly to Yura’s room, which explains how the boy so effortlessly manages to sneak around the palace despite the guards swarming throughout the west wing. The room isn’t as extravagant as Viktor’s, but still much more elegant than Yuuri’s own. Well, it would be, but it’s apparent that Yura doesn’t know much about keeping his space tidy. The bed is unmade, clothes unfolded and tossed on the floor, papers scattered over a desk and some on the floor. A heavy book is open in the middle of the bed and a fluffy cat is curled up on a coat tossed onto the bed.

Yura has already changed into proper trousers and is quickly buttoning up his shirt. Yuuri clears his throat into his fist, shifting from one foot to the other anxiously because he’s sure he’s going to be very late to the meeting and he’d rather not have Minako looking for him herself.

Why hasn’t he just left yet?

The cat wakes up, stretches, and hops off of the bed as Yura walks over and picks up the coat the feline had just been snoozing on. The ball of fur pads right up to Yuuri then proceeds to rub up against his legs, and Yuuri can hear the soft purring. He knows how to handle dogs after spending so much time around Makkachin, but he’s not very well-versed in the art of bonding with cats. They’re quite finicky animals, or the ones that he’s often seen on the palace grounds are. For the most part, they would avoid Yuuri, but this one walked right up to him with no hesitation.

“ _Pyotya_ likes you, too?” There’s disbelief, and… is that _hurt_ in Yura’s voice? The petty, evil part of Yuuri makes him drop down to his knee immediately and scoop the still-purring feline up into his arms.

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Well, I do. But why does he have to like you?” Yura scrunches his nose at the cat as he finishes with the last button of his coat. Yuuri just shrugs. Pyotya stares at Yura and blinks slowly, rumbling away in Yuuri’s arms.

As much as Yuuri would love to sit and discuss the possible reasoning why the cat named Pyotya took an immediate liking to him despite his owner, he’s _definitely_ running late to his meeting. He stands up and sets Pyotya back down on the bed. Yura is sitting on the edge of his bed and lacing up his boots, and Yuuri takes this chance to start slinking off toward the secret doorway.

“Hey!” Dammit. Yuuri scrunches his eyes shut and grits his teeth. “Where the _hell_ do you think you’re going?”

Yuuri turns around slowly, finding Yura rising up to his feet with only one boot laced. The teenager looks angry - well, maybe a little _more_ than just angry. If he weren’t only fifteen and Yuuri knew he was more than all bark and no bite then maybe he might be frightened. Right now, he’s just tired.

With a heavy sigh he begins, “Yuri, I…” The boy is quickly approaching him, Yuuri rubs at the side of his neck awkwardly. “I’m sure it seems suspicious, and it _is_... but… well, gods, how do I say this… I don’t--”

“--Shut up. I know what you want to say, and I’m coming along anyway.”

“It’s too dangerous for you to--”

Yura is suddenly right there, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, hissing right into his face, “Stop treating me like I’m helpless. I’m coming along whether you like it or not, and I can handle _myself._ ”

He’s late. It’s five past the meeting time. Yuuri can’t sit there and argue with a teenager. Fine. _Fine._ He’ll take this risk, and if Yura gets himself into trouble he can’t say Yuuri didn’t warn him. And if Minako is to be trusted, Yuuri would like to think she has ways of keeping Yura quiet if he threatened to tell anyone. Not that Yuuri’s thrilled with the idea of threatening a fifteen-year-old.

Fine. Whatever.

“Come on then.” Yuuri pushes Yura off of him and finishes lacing up his other boot, then stomps off to the door to the parlor, grumbling under his breath the whole time. At least Yura might come in handy with navigating the passageways, and Yuuri won’t arrive even later than he already will.

They slip through the dark parlor and back into the passageways.

“Where are you going, anyway?” Yura asks once the door behind them shut.

“Royal Cemetery,” he responds, “Do you know how to get there?”

Yura blinks. He looks like he wants to ask why Yuuri wants to go there, but he must figure he’ll find out soon enough and just says, “I do. C’mon.”

For what is probably the third time tonight, Yura is dragging Yuuri around again.

“How did you even learn to navigate these tunnels?” Yuuri asks at some point, breaking what he feels is a tense and awkward silence between them. “You said they were for servants, did one of them show you?”

“No,” Yura responds. He looks embarrassed again, his blush clear in the dim lamplight of the tunnels. “Viktor showed me.”

Yuuri blinks. It dawns on him that he doesn’t know much about Viktor’s relationship with Yura, other than the boy seems perpetually angry with the prince. He seems perpetually angry with everyone, but _especially…_

“He did?”

“When I was younger. He showed me and Mila.” Yura won’t look at him. He takes a sharp left turn, Yuuri almost stumbling into a wall, but he catches himself in time. “He watched us when our parents were busy, which was a lot. The Plisetskys and Babichevs have always been close with the Nikiforov family, so we practically lived here.

“Then he got busier since he’s the _prince_ and all _important._ No more time for us. And Mila had started her knight training, and her magic, and…”

Yura’s grip is uncomfortably tight now. Yuuri winces but doesn’t have the heart to pull away or ask Yura to let go. The boy falls silent, jaw clenched, and Yuuri takes it as a sign to not press for further answers.

The path is mostly straight, but then they take _another_ left, then a right and Yura is tugging him up a small stairwell and pushing open a door that has them stepping into the chapel on the northern palace grounds. It’s dark save for the moonlight trickling in through the windows, casting orange and pink glows through the stained glass.

“There’s not a lot of guards around the Cemetery, really, since the graves have magic wards to protect them from any vandals and grave robbers,” Yura explains. Yuuri nods as he follows him out of the chapel and through the shadow of the building. The boy finally releases his wrist and Yuuri follows him quickly as he scurries up a grassy hill, right up to the great gates of the Royal Cemetery.

Yuuri looks at Yura, then at the gates, and bites his lip. He sees they’re partially open already, the lock slid out of place. Yuuri doesn’t want to stand here too long, there’s the threat of a guard possibly seeing them if they happened to be patrolling this way.

So he steps forward and pushes them further open and slips inside with Yura following close behind.

It’s unnerving, but he supposes that makes sense given this is a site where humans bury their dead. They’re surrounded by Viktor’s deceased family, and even those who came before the Nikiforov line more generations back than anyone could count. And the magic in the area is almost suffocating. Yura wasn’t lying about the wards. The graves all appear unharmed, be it by human hand or by the forces of nature. He can clearly read dates on graves dating hundreds of years back.

“Just for a moment,” Yuuri whispers to Yura, “Um, hide? Somehow? I promise it won’t be for long.”

“Why should I--”

“Just _listen_ to me. Go, there, by that tree. I’ll let you know when you can come out,” he shoos Yura away and Yura wants to argue, it’s clear as day on his face, but he concedes and Yuuri watches him trudge to the large oak and plop down on his rear behind it.

With a heavy sigh, he turns his back and makes his way through the Cemetery swiftly. To be honest, he has no idea where to look first. Yuuri can only assume that the biggest graves belong to kings and queens from times long past. His nostrils flare as he tries to pick up any scent outside of that of the magic, but all that’s coming up is the smell of soil and the promise of rain.

There’s a sense of perpetual _sadness_ permeating the air. It makes sense, this is where dead humans have been buried, where their loved ones come to mourn them. This is a place to honor the lives and legacies of those long past.

Dragons, as far as Yuuri knows, never had something like graves. Or, they used to, before their race was struck from the skies and almost completely wiped out. It had begun to feel like the entire world had become their graveyard.

He pauses in front of a large mausoleum at the very far end of the Cemetery, made of stark white marble, golden designs weaving through the stone. Above the entryway, there is something written, and he can only somewhat read Seskian now, and in the dark of night he can’t make much out except for a name he’s seen written down enough he’d recognize it anywhere despite the alphabet he still struggles to grasp.

 

_His Royal Majesty Mikhail Valentinovich Nikiforov_

 

Before he can take another step there’s suddenly someone grabbing his arm and yanking him into the shadow of the mausoleum. Yuuri yelps, but a hand slaps over his mouth immediately. Oh gods, here it is, he _is_ going to be captured again and he’s going to die and--

“It took you long enough.” Minako drops her hand from Yuuri’s mouth and releases him. He stands there, trembling and wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open and his face pale. The woman blinks at him in confusion then pokes him in the nose. It snaps him out of his terrified daze. Yuuri shakes his head, hands flying up to his face and smudging his glasses.

Words are failing him. All he can manage is a, “I’m sorry.”

“Ah, I heard you always apologized too much,” she huffs, batting his hands away from his face and forcing him to look at her. Unlike the other night, her body language appears entirely relaxed, not like she’s about to strike at a moment’s notice. It makes her look kinder, more open and trustworthy. Yuuri swallows, opens his mouth to speak again, but pauses as he considers her words.

_Who told her that?_

There’s a tightening in his gut, a small ringing in his ears that he can’t attribute to his anxiety, but he doesn’t know what _else_ to attribute them to. Yuuri screws his eyes shut. “You’re going to tell me everything now?”

“Maybe, but we have to do something about your tiny blonde companion.”

Yuuri’s brows shoot up and then he grimaces. Of course she would know that Yura was here, he would be surprised if she didn’t, but he had figured she’d do nothing about it if the boy stayed put and didn’t follow Yuuri all the way here.

“You were supposed to come here alone, y’know,” Minako sighs.

“I know,” Yuuri mumbles.

The sound of angry Seskian shouting makes his head snap up while Minako remains relaxed. That’s Yura, and it sounds like he’s in trouble with the racket he’s making. He’s going to alert any guards that might be around of their presence, is he stupid? But also, what if he’s in danger? Yuuri shifts his weight onto one foot, prepared to run to his rescue when Minako catches his elbow.

“He’s fine,” she says, and moments later Yura is being carried flailing around and cursing beneath the arm of a stocky young man with dark hair and brown eyes. In the dark, Yuuri almost doesn’t recognize him. It takes a moment of scrutiny to realize this is the same young man from just the other day, the one that gave him the message from Minako that ended up bringing him here. He seems entirely unaffected by Yura’s squirming.

Minako flashes the stranger a grin. “Thank you, Otabek. You can put him down.”

‘Otabek’ carefully sets Yura on his feet and Yura bristles like an angry kitten, instantly moving to Yuuri’s side and partially hiding behind him.

“Who’s this hag?” The teen demands, nodding to Minako who pinches her brows together in mild annoyance and folds her arms over her chest.

“ _Hag?_ I’m only fifty,” Minako shoots back, only a little offended. “Who are you?”

“I asked you first!” Yura snaps, petulant.

Minako turns to Yuuri. “Who is he?”

“Tell him who you are first,” Yuuri mutters. Minako sighs in exasperation.

“Minako Okukawa, at your service! And this is Otabek.” She nods to the young man accompanying her. “Now, who’s the feisty little kitten you brought us today? Hey, Yuuri, weren’t you supposed to come _alone?_ ” She gives Yuuri a pointed look and Yuuri feels his cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“He kind of… demanded he come with me. There was no arguing with him. But this is--”

“--Marquess Yuri Plisetsky, son of Duchess Iskra Plisetskaya,” Yuri suddenly barks, puffing out like he’s trying to look bigger and more threatening than he really is, “and if--”

Yuuri reaches around and slaps his hand over Yura’s mouth. The boy wriggles around and curses angrily, muffled beneath Yuuri’s palm, and Yuuri says out of the corner of his mouth, “Do _not_ mess this up for me.”

He lets go of Yura, and to his surprise, Yura shuts up and sulks.

Minako, who had been watching with one brow raised and an amused twinkle in her eyes, snorts and says, “Does he know?”

“Er, no,” Yuuri coughs. “I haven’t told anyone else.”

“Know what? Told anyone what?” Yura pipes up again. Both Yuuri and Minako ignore him. Otabek, who has been quiet the entire time, quietly comes up to Yura’s side but says nothing. The teen squints up at him suspiciously but doesn’t shy away from him.

“Can we trust him?” Minako glances back to Yura. “I don’t want him running his mouth to anyone about this.”

Yuuri just shrugs. That earns him an annoyed grumble. The woman runs a hand through her hair. “Well, if he knows what’s good for him, he won’t say anything.”

Yura curls his lip back. “Is that a thr--”

 _“Yes,_ it is,” Yuuri snaps at him. Yura goes silent instantly, eyes narrowed. Admittedly, he has no clue what Minako was going for, but it shuts him up. He feels guilty, being a bit harsh to the boy right now, but the autumn night is chilly and he hates standing there in the middle of a cemetery arguing when he could be getting answers.

His head hurts.

Minako seems to read his mind. Gently, she places her hand on his elbow. It’s a surprisingly comforting gesture, despite the circumstances. And to think he had been so terrified she would capture him and kill him. If she wanted to, she would have, and right now he can feel no threatening vibes around her. The look on her face is soft, almost motherly.

“Come on, follow me.” And he does. While Minako turns and walks around the perimeter of the mausoleum, behind them Otabek is patiently coaxing Yura into coming along and to Yuuri’s surprise, Yura is actually _listening._

Honestly, he has to be dreaming.

Minako stops behind the mausoleum, standing in the few feet of grass between it and the walls of the Cemetery, and drops to one knee with her back to the mausoleum. There’s a glow of light from her index finger and she taps once, twice, three times in a triangular shape on the ground before her and stands back.

In only a few moments, the ground is opening up before them, giving way to a staircase made of grass and stone. Yura whispers a soft ‘what the fuck?’ behind Yuuri and Yuuri stares at Minako questioningly. Yura speaks up, “Have those always been there?”

“Oh, I put them there _years_ ago.”

“Years ago?” Yura repeats incredulously.

All she does is smile and stand up, nodding at Yuuri before making her way down the stairs deep into the ground. Yuuri hesitates, glances back to Yura and Otabek at his side, then inhales and begins his descent down the stairway. Not long after, Yura and Otabek follow behind and the ground covering the entrance to the staircase closes behind them. But it doesn’t leave them in darkness. There are lamps at the bottom of the stairs, and after that there is a narrow corridor with golden lamps and flickering blue lights dancing through the air, tickling against Yuuri’s cheeks then darting away again.

“You made this?” Yuuri says quietly, looking around with wide eyes.

“I had some help,” Minako chuckles, taking a right turn. “Magic, and some friends that I lost contact with a while back.”

Moss has begun to grow over the stone of the corridor walls, and tiny pink flowers are growing in the cracks. Despite being underground, it’s still so easy to breathe. He doesn’t feel trapped, suffocated. Minako continues walking with ease ahead of him and in the light, he can see her more clearly, how she’s dressed in sleek black clothes of leather and cloth, her cloak billowing out behind her. There are multiple small daggers sheathed against the outside of her thighs, a few more he catches glimpse of along her waist. There are vials of… some kind of brightly colored substances carried in her belt. Poisons, perhaps? Whatever it is, it must be deadly.

 _Minako_ must be deadly.

That fear is slowly returning to him. He could die down here and no one would know. No one would find his body. Not even Viktor. Viktor would search and search and never know, maybe he’d think Yuuri just left him without a word. But then Yura would die, too, Yuuri is sure, and he curses himself for letting the boy come along at all. This woman before him is obviously some kind of assassin, she could kill them both with ease.

“Yuuri,” she says gently, coming to a stop outside of a large doorway and turning around. Yuuri peers at her questioningly. “I don’t want you passing out on me when we go in. Think you can do that much?”

“Um, maybe, why?”

She doesn’t answer, instead pushing the doors open and revealing a large, circular room. There is a fountain built in the center of the marble floor, small stairs circling the space around it. The water is a bright blue, toadstools and water lilies gathering upon the surface which ripples as water trickles down from the stone. On the raised portion of the floor, there’s what seems like hundreds of large plush, colorful pillows piled up against the walls and sitting on thick quilts rolled out over the floors. There are vines and flowers growing over the walls, and the domed ceiling shows the night sky.

No, that’s… not the night sky. Well, it _is,_ but now how it is currently. A deep purple color, the stars twinkling above, the occasional meteor flying by. It’s… calming, almost. Lovely to look at. Is it magic? It must be, with how it moves, not like a regular painting. Tiny white lights float around it, shimmering just like the stars do, sometimes darting down to circle the fountain then float back up.

There are a few individuals lounging about on the pillows and blankets, most fast asleep considering the time, but he recognizes none of their faces. Yura moves from behind him to flop down onto a mound of pillows, laying himself out comfortably. He sees a large door at the other end of the room, one he presumes leads to another corridor and a multitude of other rooms.

There’s also a woman, leaning back on pillows against the wall. Her head is tipped back, eyes slipped shut, but he’s not sure if she’s actually asleep. There’s a boy curled up next to her beneath a blanket, his head in her lap, his blonde hair fanning out over her thighs. Yuuri stares at the both of them. His eyes trail up to the woman’s face again. Her hair thick and curly and brown, blonde at the tips and pushed out of her face by a purple cloth headband.

He’s never seen her face before, he knows that, but for some reason, she stands out among all the other strangers. Looking at her sends an electric shock through his body, right through his brain that sends him reeling. The hair on the nape of his neck and along his arms stands on end like the room is static-charged. At the same time, her eyes shoot open and she lifts her head, her eyes meeting his own and locking, unblinking.

Yuuri can feel Minako’s hand on his back, keeping him from toppling back and collapsing. Someone says something, but it sounds muffled. That dizziness, that nausea that had been plaguing him off-and-on, it fades completely in an instant. A weight is lifted off of his shoulders. The woman is coaxing the boy from her lap, slowly pushing herself to her feet, but neither she nor Yuuri move from their spots for a few moments.

Everything around them seems to fade away. In that moment, there’s only they two.

Yuuri’s eyes are wide, watery. When he speaks his voice is weak, barely there, disbelieving.

“ _Mari-nee?_ ”

 

\---

 

“I told him not to pass out.”

“I would’ve been surprised if he _didn’t._ ”

“Is he dead?”

“No, he’s not _dead!_ Stand back and give him some space.”

Every voice sounds distant and fuzzy. They’re talking about him, he knows that. He’s vaguely aware that he’s now horizontal, how he got that way he doesn’t really know. Apparently he passed out? There’s something soft beneath his head. A warm, familiar presence is close to his side. The voices and shuffling around him slowly pull him back to consciousness, enough that he can tell the soft thing beneath his head is a pillow and he’s lying on a thick quilt. Yuuri’s fingers twitch and one hand lift and brushes against the fabric of someone’s shirt. His fingers curl tightly into the fabric.

As he begins to stir someone’s hand lands on his head, fingers stroking through his hair in a repetitive, soothing motion.

“Yuuri, are you okay?” Whoever speaks to him does it gently, worry thick in their tone. “You’re here. I found you.”

That voice, the same one he heard in his head for so long. This is real, though, isn’t it? The voice is right there, there’s warm breath against his face, and a familiar scent washing over him; warm spring water and maple, a scent that made him feel protected and safe. It’s muffled a bit by other scents, sharp spices that make his nose tingle, the trace of acrid-smelling smoke, coffee like Viktor would drink in the mornings or even afternoons if he was tired enough (three spoons of cream, two cubes of sugar), everything attributed to a life with humans. But that familiar scent, one that brings him back _home,_ stands out clear as day beneath it all.

“Little brother, I found you.” Mari doesn’t cry. She never cries. She was always the strong, smart big sister, who always knew what to do and what to say. But right here, right now, her voice is watery and cracking and it sounds so very unlike her. Yuuri doesn’t like it.

Slowly, his eyes crack open. His glasses have been removed, or maybe they fell off when he collapsed? He doesn’t even remember collapsing. All he remembers is being led to this room he can assume is a part of a network of tunnels and other rooms, and seeing _her,_ and now he’s waking up on the floor. Yuuri squirms, forcing his limbs to wake with him and shuddering at the unpleasant numb, tingling feeling shooting down to his toes.

Hovering over him, Mari sits on her knees at his side with one hand in his hair. His vision is blurred at the edges from both his lack of glasses and rising from unconsciousness. But he sees her face, her eyes soft and wet and red streaking down her cheeks from where her tears had fallen. She’s smiling at him, stroking his hair and using her other hand to pry his from her shirt and hold it tightly. The contact makes his whole body relax, it lifts a painful weight from his chest and it’s so much easier to breathe then.

She made it. She’s alive. She’s here.

“Mari,” he croaks out. Yuuri surges upward slowly with only the strength of his abdominal muscle, then props himself up with one elbow. He looks away just to look at their joined hands, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. Then he looks back to her face and slips his hand away and instead pushes himself further up to throw his arms around her and hold on tight, his face buried in her shoulder, Mari’s arm around his middle and her hand cradling the back of his head.

His shoulders shake as he cries, the sound weak and strangled. The tears soak into Mari’s shirt. Tears of relief and joy and that ache in his heart; it’s overwhelming. The waves of emotion are crashing over him relentlessly, but for once they don’t hurt. He feels warm and light as a feather, some part of his mind that felt empty now whole. Mari rubs his back slowly as he cries, and Yuuri feels her trembling against him, too.

There’s so much he wants to say to her, but he can’t speak through his tears. So, instead, he focuses on spreading his consciousness out to brush against hers. Like her embrace, her consciousness with his is a warm and comforting feeling. They say nothing, just sit there and hold onto one another tightly, like they’re afraid that when they let go the other will slip far, far away again.

“Is this real?” Yuuri manages to say, muffled against her shirt.

Next to his ear, she gives a hoarse laugh, “I hope so.”

He laughs with her, weak and watery but genuinely _happy_ and relieved. Yuuri’s fingers tighten into the fabric of her shirt, and surprisingly he’s the one that draws back first but still refuses to let her go. Mari looks a lot like him even like this, he thinks. Funny how that works. With one arm he wipes at his eyes with his sleeve and sniffles.

“You heard me, right, Yuuri?” Mari asks, smoothing back his hair. “I was-- I was calling for you when I could feel you were close.”

Yuuri’s mouth falls open in surprise. After his nightmare of the time he was awaken away from his family, and after he heard the echo of those words in it, he had begun to brush it off as only another memory coming back to haunt him. It didn’t explain the sickness that came when it started.

“I… did,” he responds. “I didn’t know it was… well, I knew it was you _,_ after a while. I mean, I just didn’t think it was… _real._ ”

“Well,” Mari smiles, still caught in a mix of relief, exhaustion, sadness, and happiness. “It was. I always knew you were alive, baby brother. I could feel it, y’know? That was enough to give me hope. You were just too far away for me to find you at first. Then I found Minako, and she…

“She’s a real hero, you know. After I left, I don’t know how far I was going, or how long. On the way, I met Kenjirou.” The blonde boy that had been resting his head in her lap is now back to sleep, curled up on the pillows. That must be him. Mari glances back with a little grin. “He’s a lot more excitable when he’s awake, and he’s really wanted to meet you. Kid’s an orphan, and he would’ve died on his own.”

Yuuri just nods, waiting for her to continue.

“We went across the ocean.” Mari lowers her voice then, her next words only for Yuuri’s ears. It makes him remember there’s a human in the room, one entirely unaware of what exactly this is all about. “Flying, mostly. Swimming when we got tired of flying. It didn’t take too long to get to land again. And we just… did what we could. Then I--” she pauses, considering her next words carefully, “--I got caught in a trap set up by hunters. Not meant for me, but I’m sure if they found me caught in a net dangling from a tree they would’ve definitely been pleased with their catch.

“It felt like ages I was stuck up there and I figured, well, they’re gonna find me, and who knows what’ll happen then. Then Minako came by and I figured she was one of them until she climbed up the damn tree herself and cut me down and told me just who she was. I didn’t trust her at first, but Kenjirou and I went along with her anyway. She told us if we were gonna be running around, we might as well try to blend in.” Mari gestures down at herself, to her very human body. “I told her about you, how I knew you were still alive, somewhere. She said she’d do what she could to help find you, but couldn’t make any promises. So we traveled a lot, and she knows plenty of people willing to help. Apparently she’s been on the run for a long time. We learned to read, worked a bit wherever we ended up staying for a while.”

Yuuri remains absolutely silent. To think, this is what his sister had gone through, and that she had put so much effort into finding him, and that Minako had gladly helped her. There’s a surge of guilt over doubting the woman in the first place.

“Picked up some others like us. When you were close enough, I told her, and it led us here. Turns out she knew a few others like us in Seskia, too. Right in Kypol. Who would’ve thought?”

He really doesn’t know how to respond to any of this, but his eyes burn again. Tears begin to form but he blinks them back stubbornly, not wanting to cry more than he already has. It’s so late, it has to be past two in the morning, he hasn’t been sleeping well already, and crying before, and all these emotions hitting him at once, he’s exhausted enough. It’d be nice to lie down and sleep here, but he’s going to need to head back to his room before the sun rises.

When he looks at her now, right up close, he can see how beautiful she really is, but also so worn. Understandably so, given everything she’s gone through these past few months. And it’s like she hasn’t been sleeping properly, like she’s been _ill,_ just like him.

“I was sick,” he blurts out then. “When you started calling for me. I got sick.”

Immediately, she looks embarrassed, but her smile remains in place. “My fault,” she admits. “Months after being away from you, then suddenly trying to rekindle our connection without warning? While we were still far away? Maybe I got too excited.” She laughs and it's sheepish. “I got sick, too.”

Yuuri falls silent and nods. Then, after a few moments, he asks, “Our parents…?”

Mari shakes her head and his heart sinks. “I don’t know, Yuuri.”

He really _could_ cry.

“So, hey, what’s going on?” Pipes up a voice behind them, and that’s probably what keeps him from sobbing again. Yuuri blinks and turns his head, finding Yura sitting on pillows stuffing some kind of crackers into his mouth. Otabek sits beside him, legs crossed beneath him and nibbling at a slice of bread that smells like cinnamon.

The boy squints at the siblings incredulously. He wipes the crumbs from his mouth. “Well?”

Off to the side, he can see Minako with arms folded over her chest and next to her - oh, is that Seung-gil? He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, his gaze directed up to the starry ceiling. Yuuri knew he was associated with Minako, but didn’t actually expect to see him here. Finally releasing his sister, he turns his head towards Minako who meets his gaze with a little smile, then sighs when she turns her attention to Yura who is waiting expectantly - and impatiently - for an answer.

“How likely is it for you to keep your mouth shut?” She asks. The boy tenses.

“Depends. If there’s some assassination plot going on, then not likely.” Yura shoves another cracker into his mouth and speaks around it, “But that’s not something I’d figure he’d--” he nods to Yuuri “--be capable of.”

Yuuri doesn’t know if he should be offended or not.

“You, though,” Yura hisses, gesturing to Minako, “No one could blame me if I thought you were out to murder anyone. Armed to the fucking teeth. Is this how you show yourself to everyone? No wonder you have to hide.”

Minako raises a brow, glances down at herself, then grins widely. To Yuuri, she whispers, “I think I like him.”

That makes him smile, just a little. Evidently Yura heard, too, given the embarrassed blush that paints his cheeks then. Minako plops down on the pillows and crosses her legs, leaning forward with her elbows propped up on her knees. She taps one cheek with her index finger, considers Yura for a moment, then says:

“What do you know about dragons?”

Pausing mid-chew, Yura gives her a dubious look. The boy glances to Yuuri, then back to Minako. He swallows his mouthful.

“Not a lot,” he admits. “I read storybooks, I mean.” Then quickly, he adds, “When I was little!” Yura looks away, his nose crinkling. “I just know the war ended a long time ago, and they’re all dead, right? Or, most of them. I don’t know. I’ve never met one. It’d be cool, though. Grandpa fought in the war, he tells me I’m lucky I haven’t met one.”

Yura is fumbling with his hands in his lap. Yuuri thinks he looks kind of vulnerable, his face softened and cheeks tinted with an embarrassed blush.

Minako’s eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles big. From her peripheral, she gives Yuuri a knowing look. He worries his bottom lip then looks away fast and screws his eyes shut because he knows just what’s coming and that the outcome could be disastrous. Mari senses his distress and tugs him back into her embrace.

The tension in the room is unbearable. Everything is silent and still. If Minako is purposely building up suspense, Yuuri thinks she could give Viktor a run for his money when it comes to theatrics.

“But you have,” she finally says. Yuuri can’t help but crack one eye open and glance to Yura, who has gone stock-still where he sits.

Green eyes flash, Yura’s expression twisting into something ugly. When he speaks there’s an angry, offended growl in his voice, “Don’t fuck with me. Just ‘cus I’m fifteen doesn’t mean I’m stupid or gullible.”

“Hey, you said it, not me,” Minako shoots back.

Yura bristles. “Wouldn’t we know if one was around? I mean, it’d be pretty obvious, right?”

“Would it?” Minako hums. “They were the dominant race for thousands of years. They watched humanity for a long time and mingled with them for years before we turned on them. You know they learned to take human forms, right? You think that it’s _impossible_ that any of them left would try to assimilate, just so they could survive?”

The boy grits his teeth. Yuuri feels sick to his stomach. Every instinct is telling him to run, right now. Leave because of the potential threat that comes with Yura knowing. It could all go so wrong. So, so wrong. All because of one boy.

“How many?” Yuuri snaps his head up at the sound of Yura’s quiet question. “How many of you, in here?”

“Just about everyone,” Minako says gently. “Besides you and me. Some of them are…” She clears her throat, “To put it bluntly, half-breeds. Like Otabek. But they don’t like when you call them that. Sorry, Otabek.”

“No offense taken,” he hums.

Yura’s eyes are suddenly on Yuuri and Mari grips him tighter, protectively, ready to do whatever she could to keep her little brother from harm. The boy scrutinizes him from where he sits.

“Even him?” He jabs a thumb at Yuuri.

“Yes, even Yuuri.”

“Oh.” Yura falls silent for what seems like forever. Yuuri shifts uncomfortably.

The tension returns, but stronger this time. It makes him feel like he’s going to vomit or pass out again. Maybe both. He tries to steady his breathing and the rapid pounding of his heart in his chest.

“That…” Yura starts slowly. “Is…”

His eyes light up. “So _cool!”_

Oh, wow. Yuuri sits there, dumbstruck, as Yura leaps to his feet and practically barrels him over when he approaches, hands grasping at his shoulders. “Wow, I always thought you were kind of weird, and Viktor’s weird and he likes you so you’d have to be weird, too. But you’re a… a…”

“Dra...gon…?” Yuuri says slowly, trying to process exactly what’s going on. Yura’s not angry, or scared, or threatening to tell someone to get them all killed? And he’s excited? He thinks it’s _cool?_ That is… the exact opposite of what Yuuri was expecting. This is definitely a preferred outcome, at least, but he doesn’t really like Yura yelling in his face, even if it’s not out of anger this time.

“Wow, you _have_ to show me sometime. What’s that even like? Can you fly? Will you take me flying?” Yura is buzzing with excitement, looking more his age with the wide grin on his face and his eyes shining. It’d be endearing if it weren’t so overwhelming. “Does Viktor know? He has to know.”

Before Yura can bombard him with further questions, Yuuri cuts in, “Yes, he knows.” He manages to pry the boy’s hands from his shoulders. “He’s known the entire time. I got hurt, he found me, and visited often after. Then brought me here.”

“Huh, _that’s_ why he kept running off every day for like, three months…”

“Right.”

There’s silence. Then realization flickers across Yura’s face. “Wait, so he’s been trying to-- to woo a dragon?”

“What?” Mari practically chokes on her own saliva.

“I think we’re past the _wooing_ stage,” Yuuri mutters.

 _“What?”_ Mari repeats.

“Past the-- oh, _gross,_ no, don’t tell me any more.” Yura shakes his head rapidly. “Gods, he really is weird. And you.”

Yuuri smiles. “I guess.”

The boy plops onto his rear. “Dragons, huh…”

“You know you can’t tell anyone,” Minako says. “If you do, Yuuri - well, everyone here, except you - will probably die some way or another. I already got caught and thrown into a dirty cell and almost executed for hiding dragons once. I don’t really want that to happen again. And Viktor will get in trouble, to put it lightly. Probably forced to step down as heir.”

Yura ponders these words for a moment. “I wasn’t gonna tell, anyway. I’m not stupid. But, you,” he points to Yuuri, “Next time you come here, I wanna come, too. I like Otabek,” he nods to the young man (well, dragon, or half, Yuuri assumes) who has remained mostly silent and watchful the entire time. Otabek nods back. “And I wanna know more.”

Biting his lip, Yuuri looks to Minako, who is looking at Yura thoughtfully. Then she looks at Yuuri and grins out of one side of her mouth, nodding. “Sure, so long as he can stay quiet.”

This is more responsibility than Yuuri really thinks he can deal with, given circumstances, but he knows Yura isn’t going to take no for an answer, and Minako already said it was fine. Two people traveling out here is riskier than one, more likely to get caught, and he doesn’t want to put Yura in any danger.

Gods, what’s he gotten himself into?

“When should I come back?” Yuuri asks, finally. Mari, bless her heart, presses close to his side and winds an arm around his middle to keep him calm and grounded.

“In a week. Same time, meet in the same place,” Minako responds. “But before you two leave… Yuuri, there’s something else you need to know. Something I only just found out recently.”

There’s a faint burning feeling on one side of his chest all of a sudden and a low buzzing in the back of his head. Yuuri tries not to think much of it. He just focuses on Minako.

“What is it?”

“It’s…” she pauses, bites the inside of her cheek. “Viktor. He’s in danger.”

 

\---

 

Searing pain, like a hot knife digging into his skin, tearing through muscle right down to the bone, has Viktor waking in the darkness of his room with a shout ripping from his throat. It tore him right from his deep, boneless sleep in an instant. He pushes himself up onto one elbow, his hand flying to his chest where he feels the raised scar tissue beneath his fingers.

It’s _hot._ It’s burning, throbbing, as though it were a brand new, still-healing wound and not a reminder of an event nearly ten years past. Viktor groans. It feels like his blood is on fire like something noxious is traveling slowly through his veins. This is familiar, too familiar. Like he’s eighteen again and he can see and feel that poison-coated blade ripping through his skin again. See his mother’s face and hear her frantic voice because she can’t lose her son, too. He hisses.

Makkachin whimpers and crawls up the bed, licking worriedly at his owner’s face. Viktor doesn’t have the heart to push him away, just smiling weakly and forcing himself to sit up. The pain slowly dies down into a faint simmer beneath his scar.

Someone is pounding on the door to his chambers and it makes him startle, immediately reaching beneath his pillows to retrieve the dagger kept hidden. He curls his fingers around the grip, but releases it and sags with relief the moment they speak, “Your Highness, is everything alright?!” It must be the guard currently posted outside of his chambers, he guesses his shout must have alarmed him.

“Everything is fine, just a nightmare,” he says, hoping that the pained edge to his voice isn’t too obvious.

The guard doesn’t seem to take notice to it. “Of course. Let me know if you require anything, Your Highness. Good night.”

Viktor slowly turns onto his back and reaches over to turn on the bedside lamp. He pulls the blankets away from him, slips from the bed, and, with shaky legs, makes his way to the bathroom. Every movement sends a dull throb through his body, and he doesn’t understand just _what_ is causing this. The prince has a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the basin when he peers into the mirror too large for one person.

The scar weaving from his chest around to his back is an ugly, angry red; it looks like it’s inflamed, infected. With one hand he reaches up slowly to brush his fingers over it once more and snarls when the contact brings back that stinging pain. Grinding his molars together, he smoothes his hand out and lets his magic flow through him, the icy chill flowing from his palm and numbing the pain enough that he doesn’t feel it with every movement.

This… is bad. A heavy, thick, sickening feeling of dread pools in his gut.

He exits the bathroom and makes a beeline for the door. Without opening it, he speaks loud enough to be heard through the thick layer of wood.

“Wake my mother. There is something she needs to see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lack of viktuuri interaction, i'll make it up to you guys next chapter )-:
> 
> like i said this chapter was kinda hard to get how i wanted, so i feel it might be kind of messy... and i wrote that last bits in a borderline-feverish haze... but what can ya do i guess.
> 
> there's more art!!!
> 
> some good fuzzy dragon yuuris by pinktiga on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/pinktiga/status/873377677025067008)!  
> a very soft yuuri by karmashiota on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/karmashiota/status/877034109377290241)!  
> and a sweet yuuri by cottoncandymilo on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/cottoncandymilo/status/873025717528797184)!  
> a wicked as hell dragon yuuri by SandTriangle on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/SandTriangle/status/877672558879010816)!  
> more good fuzzy noodle boys by icarussdive on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/icarussdive/status/878079452806172672)!  
> yuuri blepping (because i've been talking about it on twitter and now need to write it in the fic at some point) by Shipthemall on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/Shipthemall/status/879552006616174592)!  
> and the smallest, softest viktor and dragon yuuri you could possibly imagine by fcd2c7 on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/fcd2c7/status/879529847940407296)!
> 
> (if i missed any, let me know!)
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> as usual, my twitter is [here](http://twitter.com/yuurigif)! i'll post about updates there! you can ask me questions or just talk to me!  
> my tumblr is [here](http://yuuriofficial.tumblr.com), if you would prefer to ask questions there.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“But how do you know that you can trust them?”_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _“That’s just it,” she hummed, “You don’t.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off, i am _so_ sorry for the wait. if you follow me on twitter, you probably know some things came up that hindered my ability to work on this chapter.
> 
> second, a lot of things planned for this chapter ended up getting taken out and instead moved to chapter 9, for the sake of length and pacing.
> 
> third, i made makkachin a girl because Why Not

The moment his mother steps into the room and sets her eyes upon him the air goes frigid.

It isn’t like Viktor to call for her in the middle of the night. And given current circumstances, she arrived swiftly, still looking elegant and almost imposing even in her billowing night robes and shawl around her shoulders, her hair loose and uncombed and falling down her back. There is a severe look on her face, her lips tightening and brows furrowing. A storm brews in the blue of her eyes.

Without turning she speaks to the two knights in the doorway, “Wake the doctor and nurse and bring them here.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” And they leave without hesitation.

Viktor sits completely still at the edge of his bed, the only movement from him being the rise and fall of his abdomen as he breathes and the fluttering of his lashes when he blinks. Their eyes meet. Sofiya crosses the room in a fluid motion to stand before her son. Makkachin cowers nearby, the dog would normally bound up to her happily, but the aura she exudes now has her hiding under a chair with her tail tucked between her legs.

“Sit back, Vitya,” she says, her voice light and gentle like a mother’s should be but still a very obvious command. Viktor nods wordlessly, pulling his legs back onto the bed and leaning back against the headboard in the middle of the bed, wincing at the pressure against the throbbing scar. He stares up at the canopy of the bed, but Sofiya keeps her eyes trained on him as she circles around to one side to lean over him.

“What is this?” She asks mostly to herself, running her fingertips along where the scar cuts over his ribcage and chest. Even when he flinches, she doesn’t pull away. Viktor sees her jaw set tightly, every muscle in her face tense and her expression pensive. Sofiya murmurs something under her breath, something he can’t quite catch, but beneath her fingers, he suddenly feels warmth flutter through the scar. Not an unpleasant heat that came with the pain, but soothing and relaxing. Viktor sinks back against the pillows. He doesn’t speak, he’s not sure what to say. He just lets her quietly tend to him as best she can until they can deduce the source of this odd pain. In the meantime he thinks of Yuuri, who is tucked away in his room and hopefully sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of what is going on. Viktor hopes to keep it that way.

Not even ten minutes later the doors open again, two knights leading in Nurse Petrova and Doctor Volkova. Both women are at the bedside immediately, bringing with them a large cart carrying medical supplies of all different sorts. Across from them, his mother sits. The knights turn the rest of the lights on then take their leave silently.

“Your Highness,” the Doctor says as she leans over him, and he turns his gaze to her. “How do you feel?”

“Tired, mostly,” Viktor responds, maybe a little too casually in a situation such as this. Being woken up well past two in the morning because you feel like you’re getting stabbed over and over with a hot knife can really do a number on someone. He just wants to sleep, his mother’s magic managing to ease the pain enough that he can relax without irritating the scar where it curves along the right side of his upper back.

Off to the side, Nurse Petrova is mixing together a thick poultice. Despite the time, both women look wide awake, ready to help the prince without question. Doctor Volkova’s eyes meet his mother’s from across the bed and she sighs.

“Your Highness, if you’d please sit up for me.”

He does, using the muscle in his abdomen to pull himself into an upright sitting position rather than leaning back against the pillows. The Doctor pulls on thin gloves and ducks her head down, running her fingertip from the end of the inflamed scar at his shoulder blade around to the other end at his chest. Viktor remembers she was the one who oversaw his treatment when he had gained this injury in the first place. The memories are a bit fuzzy, he had been blacking out from agony and then hazy from magic and anesthetics keeping him numb and his muscles slack, but he remembers her face and her barking out orders as they scrambled to save their prince.

Viktor sits there as she continues to inspect him. Then, suddenly, she presses her finger down and murmurs something and a painful shock is sent through him. He bears down on his tongue to swallow his startled, pained shout. The scar throbs unbearably, his skin crawling and that burning rising right up to the surface. He sees it purple a bit around the edges.

“Poison,” the Doctor suddenly says. “The spell is meant to detect it. Forgive me, Your Highness, for causing discomfort.”

“It’s fine,” he responds through gritted teeth. It isn’t her fault, she’s only doing her job, but he would appreciate a warning next time. Then, he says slowly, “Poison?”

“Yes,” she sighs, reaching off to the side for Nurse Petrova to hand her a swab, which she then dabs at the spot where her spell had entered. When she holds it up, he can see the pale green substance sticking to it thickly. Beside him, Queen Sofiya tenses. She’s been oddly quiet this entire time, choosing instead to observe while the Doctor and Nurse work. While his mother is extraordinary at healing magic, there are still many things a qualified doctor can do that she cannot. “But…”

“But?” Both Viktor and Sofiya say in tandem.

“I can get rid of it. You don’t need to worry about that, but there’s something else. Your Highness,” she turns her head to Viktor, her gaze hard. “Do you remember, the day you had gotten this scar?”

Like much of everything that day, almost ten years ago, the memories are a bit fuzzy. But he can remember what led up to the injury. The Nikiforovs were never known for being lax with their security, which was only tightened after the murder of Viktor’s father ten years before the incident.

It had almost been the same with Viktor, eighteen years old and still a bit foolish. Walking across a courtyard with a small book open in hand, reading it while simultaneously keeping himself aware of his surroundings. What caught him by surprise was a sudden shadow leaping out at him from behind a colonnade, dagger drawn and ready to strike, but Viktor had been able to sidestep at the last moment before it struck his throat. It had messily cut through his braid and sent it to the ground, however, and he recalls the foul stench of singed hair that let him know something was imbued within the blade.

A cry of alarm had slipped his lips, and he released a pulse of magical energy that could be felt across the palace grounds. That must have been what had almost every knight running to the courtyard in the first place. Viktor had managed to hold his own quite well, hardly a novice when it came to battle, even without a blade at his side. Magic wasn’t something he used often outside of sparring with the knights and battle mages, but it came to him as naturally as anything. It, along with his training in hand-to-hand combat, is what kept him fighting as long as he had, but it had been a careless misstep, a raise of his arm to cast a spell that left him open and vulnerable that gave the assassin room to strike.

That blade had torn through his skin and muscle like it was nothing but paper. It had been hot, bright, burning pain. The knights had arrived just in time to see him collapse in the middle of the courtyard, blood pooling around him and his assassin prepared to land the killing blow. But a burst of fire magic had sent the blade flying from the assassin’s hand now burned by the flames and before anyone else could strike, they bolted, easily scaling their way up to the roof of the palace and out of sight. Knights were sent out immediately to scour the area and a group of scouts from the Nikiforov’s spy network was sent to the rooftops.

Whoever it was had gotten away.

Three days later he awoke in his bedroom, exhausted and starving with his head pounding and his still-healing wound itchy and stinging beneath the bandages and stitches. The guard posted within had called for the Doctor when noticing Viktor stirring from his unconscious state. She gave him the basic rundown, that his mother had been the one to cast the spell that knocked the dagger from his attacker’s hand, that he had been unconscious for three days, that the dagger had been coated in an unidentifiable poison and imbued with a dark magic. But they had rid him of the poison, spent countless hours healing him without rest, and he would live.

Not long after he cut his hair, the long silver waves that had tumbled down his back having already been messily chopped off by a poisoned dagger. The new hairstyle made him look older; he decided he liked it quite a lot and joked that maybe he should thank his attacker for helping him with the revelation he looked good with short hair. His mother hadn’t been amused, and she’s normally quite easy to amuse.

“I do,” he finally responds. “The dagger, it was poisoned, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” the Doctor confirms. “Your Highness, that poison--” she looks to the swab in her fingers. “It is the same as this.”

“What?” Sofiya says incredulously. “I had sensed dark magic, but you had rid him of that poison, hadn’t you?”

“I had,” the Doctor responds, setting the swab down on a small tray kept from the rest of the medical supplies. “It would have been nearly impossible to miss any.”

“Nearly,” Viktor hums.

“Whatever magic that had been in that dagger, while we had thought we had rid your body of it, much like the poison…” Doctor Volkova sighs, then continues, “I suppose the caster was more powerful than we thought. Managing to keep just enough undetectable, to hide poison left dormant, to lull us into security. Until now.”

“Until now?” The prince quirks a brow.

“I don’t understand it either,” she says, shaking her head. “Whoever it was, I don’t know their intentions. If they wished to finish whatever job they had, why wait so long? And the lack of subtlety…”

Being royalty always had its risks. Assassination attempts weren’t unheard of but were often thwarted before they could even be carried out. It was rare that anyone even got to him or his mother. Viktor’s father had been the first successful assassination in generations. Kypol Palace’s security was unmatched, it was difficult to get in or out undetected. To do so, you would need inside help.

If Viktor is even allowed outside the palace grounds with this new information, he’d be shocked.

“It feels like a distraction from something bigger,” he says, so quiet it’s almost impossible to catch. His mother casts him a wary glance. The Doctor closes her eyes, inhales, then reopens them and looks to the Queen.

“Your Majesty, might I suggest you--”

A loud crash outside the closed doors, the startled voices of the guards outside, and the clinking of armor cuts off the Doctor’s words. All four of them snap their attention to the doors as they swing open.

Yuuri stands there, panting hard, red-faced and sweaty, obviously having run all the way to Viktor’s chambers. His glasses are almost falling off of his face and Viktor really wants to get up and fix them for him, tidy up his messy hair dampened by sweat. The dragon settles his gaze onto Viktor, the Queen, and the Doctor and Nurse. Brown eyes widen, he opens his mouth like he wants to say something but is still too busy catching his breath. Both guards come up behind him, a hand on either of his shoulders, but he shrugs them off stubbornly and stumbles further into the room.

When the guards move to go after him, the Queen raises her hand to signal for them to stop, then waves it to dismiss them. They leave without question, bowing their heads then turning and closing the doors behind them.

“Oh-- th-thank the gods,” Yuuri heaves, practically falling to his knees at the side of the bed, right next to the Doctor. Viktor watches him as he presses his face into the blanket, immediately reaching out one hand to comb through his dark hair. Yuuri had been avoiding him all day for reasons Viktor doesn’t know, he had thought he’d angered the dragon somehow, but now he’s right here, frantic and worried at Viktor’s bedside.

“Yuuri,” Sofiya says gently because she’s abandoned titles for him long ago, treating him with fondness and affection. There’s an underlying edge to her voice now though, something almost suspicious. Viktor’s jaw tightens because he _knows_ Yuuri has nothing to do with this, he knows Yuuri would never do something like this, and he wishes he could say that. But he could understand the suspicion as much as it pained him to say it, what with everything going on happening almost immediately following Yuuri’s arrival to the palace. “What are you doing here?”

Obviously, Yuuri doesn’t miss the slight shift of her tone either, because he’s drawing away from Viktor’s touch and scooting back from the edge of the bed with his cheeks pale. Viktor wants to pull him back in because Yuuri’s presence is a calming one, but he knows better right now. They share a glance and Yuuri’s frown deepens.

“I heard--” he swallows thickly, “Heard something was- was happening. With Viktor. I couldn’t-- couldn’t sleep. So I snuck outside to take a walk and clear my head.” That explains his fully-dressed state. Yuuri turns his eyes away, ducking his head in shame. “Which I shouldn’t have done so late. Please forgive me.”

“You’re forgiven,” Sofiya responds quickly. “And?”

“I saw the guards, and then Doctor Volkova and Nurse Petrova leaving the infirmary, I heard something about Viktor being hurt. Is he okay?”

Whether Yuuri is lying about any of this or not, Viktor can’t say. The dragon’s whole existence here among humans is built around lying, so he’s grown quite good at it, Viktor’s noticed. Good enough that sometimes Viktor can’t even tell. But he sounds genuine, his wide eyes full of concern.

“I’ll be fine, Yuuri-- _ack._ ” Viktor hisses through his teeth as another surge of burning pain runs through the scar. Yuuri’s eyes land on it, that inflamed shock of red standing out against Viktor’s pale skin.

“What’s--”

“We’re handling it,” Nurse Petrova says gently, placing her hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine, you don’t need to worry.”

Yuuri worries his bottom lip with his teeth. Viktor really wants to kiss his distress and concern away, to gather him close and find comfort in the familiar warmth of his body, but he stays put and Yuuri casts him another glance, then looks to the Doctor, then the Nurse, then the Queen.

“Can I…” Yuuri swallows and pinches his brows together, backtracks, then starts over, “Let me stay.”

Sofiya’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The Queen glances to Doctor Volkova from across Viktor’s bed, and the Doctor considers Yuuri for a moment before giving a small nod.

“Alright, Lord Katsuki. Just give us some room while we tend to him.”

The dragon looks unsure, but finally, complies and slinks away to perch himself on the chair Makkachin has been hiding beneath the whole time. The dog crawls out and laps at Yuuri’s hand and Viktor finds comfort in the little smile that tugs at Yuuri’s lips as he strokes the pooch’s head.

They set towels around Viktor and get to work. Doctor Volkova continues what she was saying before Yuuri had burst in, about how they need to post even more guards for the time being, and possibly lengthen their posts. Viktor doesn’t listen as she and his mother speak, he instead keeps his attention on Yuuri who remains sitting across the room, now watching the four with worried eyes and teeth sinking in his bottom lip.

The inflamed scar is punctured, Viktor clenching his teeth and shivering when he feels them begin to drain poison and pus from it. It takes what feels like ages, his mother casting a few spells to keep Viktor relaxed and then light magic to chase off the last of the dark that had been hiding within him for so long. They work mostly in silence save for the occasional mutter of a spell or the Doctor and Nurse exchanging a few words.

They help him from the bed but Viktor insists he can walk on his own. The Prince can feel Yuuri’s eyes on him as he moves to the bathroom with the Doctor and Nurse and his mother, where they take great care in cleaning the scar that is distinctly less red than before. Viktor, from where he sits at the edge of his large tub, can see Yuuri has moved from the chair and is now peering around the corner and into the bathroom to watch, only to scuttle away when they finish the last of the cleaning and exit the bathroom.

“This will need to be applied every morning and night,” Nurse Petrova says, lifting the small mortar of poultice she had created earlier. Doctor Volkova moves to the side and lets the Nurse apply the poultice to the bandages, which she carefully presses to the length of the wound and secures over his shoulder. It’s cold. Viktor shivers. “It will ease the pain and get rid of the inflammation. I’ll come by each time to help apply--”

“--I’ll do it,” Yuuri suddenly blurts out from where he sits. When they turn to look at him, his face turns bright red, but he continues, “I’ll do it. You don’t have to worry. If you’ll allow it.”

The Nurse and Doctor exchange looks, then glance to Sofiya who watches Yuuri closely. For a moment, Viktor is worried she will say no. Even if Viktor says he’ll allow Yuuri to tend to him, that is nothing compared to his own mother’s decision. She considers Yuuri for a few long moments.

“I’ll allow it.” Viktor sees Yuuri sag in relief. Sofiya glances towards Viktor, and he swears there’s a knowing smile on her lips, “Vitya?”

“Yes,” he responds without hesitation.

“Alright,” Nurse Petrova doesn’t bother masking the amusement in her voice. “Come here, Lord Katsuki. I’ll tell you how to make it.”

Yuuri hops from the chair and rushes over, his back to Viktor and head bowed as the Nurse goes over the ingredients, how long to crush and mix them, and how much to apply to the bandages. It’s all written down on a little piece of a parchment she hands to Yuuri, and she says that they’ll bring the ingredients over in a few hours to last the week and to come to the infirmary if he needs anymore, and that they will need to check on the state of the wound in three days.

After checking over Viktor one more time, Doctor Volkova steps away from the bedside. Both she and the Nurse bow their heads respectfully then take their leave, pulling their cart after them and saying something about how they’ll probably need to burn the towels used to clean away the poison that had been sitting dormant within Viktor’s body for, apparently, years.

Sofiya remains just a little while longer, watching as Yuuri - who seemingly forgets about her presence for the moment - sheds his cloak, kicks off his shoes so he can clamber onto the bed and up to Viktor’s side. Warm hands cup his face and Viktor leans into the touch happily, his eyes fluttering shut. Breath ghosts over his face when Yuuri presses their foreheads together, the smell sweet like honey, just like the taste of his lips. There’s also the faint scent of the chilly nighttime autumn air clinging to his hair and skin. Well, he said he had been on a walk to clear his head before overhearing the situation, hadn’t he?

The sound of the Queen clearing her throat and rising to her feet startles Yuuri, who pulls away from Viktor and turns his attention to her, an embarrassed blush painted high on his cheeks. Viktor absentmindedly strokes along his hip.

“Do you want to stay here, Yuuri?” She asks, then adds, “Not just for tonight. I’ll organize for your belongings to be moved to an available room just a few doors down.” Sofiya pauses, then chuckles, “Assuming you would be spending your evenings there at all.”

“Yes,” Yuuri chokes out, surprised, and shockingly doesn’t seem too embarrassed. “Yes, please.”

Sofiya regards them for a few moments longer, then sweeps across the room and gives Makkachin a pat on the head as she passes. “I’ll have them sent up by lunch. For now, both of you need your rest.” She turns to look at them. “I mean it.”

“Yes, Mama,” Viktor snorts, then softly adds, “Thank you.”

The woman smiles, soft and kind with a playful glint in her eyes, then turns and leaves the room without another word.

For a moment that seems to stretch on forever, both he and Yuuri are completely silent. The dragon turns his head so their eyes meet, blinking slowly, still so worried. Viktor can see it in his eyes. For right now, Viktor can push aside the events from the past hour, shove everything he was told to the back of his brain, and focus on Yuuri. Both arms wrap around Yuuri’s middle and he pulls him close, mindful of the scar where the pain has died down to nothing but a faint sting.

“No more stealing away at night just to see me,” Viktor chuckles. Yuuri grins back at him weakly, carding his fingers through the short silver strands of his hair. Viktor hums appreciatively, tilting his head into the touch.

Their noses rub together. Viktor runs his hands up and down, along Yuuri’s waist, his head remaining tilted to the side almost expectantly, but Yuuri seems hesitant. So he puts on his best pout, “You’ve been avoiding me all day, making me terribly depressed. Then, I was in such horrible pain. And you run all the way here, but still won’t kiss me? Yuuri, I’m hurt.”

He squeezes Yuuri’s hips. The words are meant to be playful, not meant to pressure Yuuri in any way, but the dragon’s eyes widen in alarm.

“I! Um!” Yuuri ducks his head and Viktor sees his face turn pink. “Sorry.”

Viktor stares at him for a few moments. Either he needs to work on getting the fact he’s joking across a lot better, or Yuuri needs to stop being so dull sometimes. The Prince blinks, then tucks his fingers under Yuuri’s chin to tilt his head and allow their gazes to meet.

“Yuuri, I’m only teasing,” he says with a smile. The pad of his thumb brushes over Yuuri’s bottom lip. Big brown eyes stare at him in mild confusion, then surprise, then embarrassment over completely misunderstanding. Viktor slips his hand from his chin and taps the tip of his nose gently, watching in amusement as Yuuri crinkles his nose in response to the contact. Then their eyes meet again.

Yuuri shifts his weight in Viktor’s lap. “Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks.

“Have I not been making it obvious enough? I always do, Yuuri,” Viktor responds sweetly. “Do _you_ want to kiss me?”

A smile pulls at Yuuri’s lips. He peers up at Viktor through his lashes coyly, and if it weren’t for the dull pain when he moved too much he would have flipped Yuuri onto his back right then and there and lost himself in him if Yuuri wanted.

“I do,” he says, curling his arms around Viktor’s neck. “I haven’t kissed you in a while.”

“Go ahead,” Viktor practically purrs. He closes his eyes. “I’m waiting.”

It takes a few moments, but then he feels the press of Yuuri’s lips against him. It’s soft and sweet, with Yuuri leaning into him but making an obvious effort to be careful of his bandages. Viktor can appreciate that. One hand strokes along Yuuri’s spine and Yuuri’s lips part over his, and Viktor follows suit. Their tongues brush, the contact fleeting and feather-light. Viktor drops both hands to Yuuri’s waist and squeezes, feeling and hearing Yuuri’s breath hitch against his lips.

But the kiss remains tender and gentle, with the occasional roll of their tongues together. Viktor runs the tip of his tongue over Yuuri’s fangs once or twice, the contact somewhat curious. He would love to take it further with Yuuri’s permission, but he knows Yuuri would decline, would be too worried about Viktor’s current physical state. Inwardly he curses his injury. In his room, he has all the right things, what would make it possible to go further than they had, but now isn’t the right time. It’s late, approaching four in the morning. Viktor is in pain, Yuuri is obviously exhausted. He reminds himself that if Yuuri is staying with him from now on, they will have many more nights together. Many more chances for Viktor to breathe his love into Yuuri’s skin, kiss his worries away, treat him with the care he deserves to be treated with, like something important. No, he _is_ something important. A light in Viktor’s life, hot and fiery and bright, tempting and always surprising.

“I don’t have any night clothes with me,” Yuuri says against Viktor’s lips. They pull apart, Yuuri sitting back on Viktor’s knees.

Viktor looks at him for a moment. “You can wear something of mine.”

Yuuri starts, then shakes his head and waves his hands. “No! No, no, it’s fine. I can wear this. It’s okay.”

He goes silent when Viktor catches onto one of his wrists and brings his hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. “No, I won’t allow that.” Viktor kisses his wrist then. “Or, maybe, you can sleep naked.” The Prince bats his eyelashes playfully. Yuuri goes red and pulls his hand back, climbing from Viktor’s lap and quickly hopping off of the bed. The dragon pulls his glasses off and sets them on the bedside table before he makes his way across the room, face still hot. It’s funny, how Yuuri is so easily flustered by the smallest of comments like that, despite the fact that there’s little to be embarrassed about between them when it comes to that.

“The left side of the closet, there should be plenty of shirts.” Yuuri pulls the door of the closet open, peering in. Makkachin trots across the room and jumps onto the bed, sniffing at her owner curiously then panting happily as Viktor scratches her behind the ears while Yuuri pulls something out of the closet and goes to strip off his clothes.

Viktor steals a few glances. They’ve already seen one another naked, sure, but he’s not sure if that means Yuuri is entirely comfortable being watched by Viktor while he changes. So he mostly keeps his eyes turned away while Yuuri wiggles off the last of his clothes and dresses into something else.

“Okay,” Yuuri sighs, ducking into the bathroom then coming back out a minute later. Viktor feels a surge of warmth spread through him at the sight of Yuuri in one of his spare button-up shirts. It’s long on him, meant to be tucked into trousers after all, and since Yuuri isn’t as broad in the shoulders and chest as Viktor is it still keeps sliding off one shoulder. Viktor wonders if it’s possible to fall in love with someone more than he already has.

Very aware of the still-present dull throb in his right side, Viktor lies himself down carefully on his left as Yuuri moves about the room to shut the lights off. Yuuri circles around to the other side of the bed and Viktor can see his silhouette in the dark, feel the bed dip beneath his weight (while Makkachin moves to the end of the bed to curl up there) and his warmth when he joins him under the blankets. He’s keeping a distance, Viktor notices. Close, but not touching, and Viktor deduces Yuuri’s worried about irritating the wound. In the dark he sees the slight glow of Yuuri’s eyes still peering up at him, one of the many things that remind him that no matter how human Yuuri looks, he’s still anything but.

The Prince slowly closes his eyes and raises his right arm in a silent invitation which Yuuri accepts without hesitation, wiggling closer and tucking his head beneath Viktor’s chin while Viktor settles his arm around his waist, hand on the small of his back, his other arm tucked beneath his pillow. He adjusts himself a bit into a position somewhat easier on his wound and more comfortable for them both then noses into Yuuri’s air, breathing in deep.

Yuuri is tense, he can feel it when he holds him. Viktor saw it in the line of his shoulders and clenching of his jaw with the lights still on, and he wonders if it’s entirely to do with his current state. After all, Yuuri is a constant worrier, but a little part in the back of Viktor’s brain has a nagging suspicion there’s something more on the dragon’s mind.

He doesn’t ask about it, just allows himself to relax. To his surprise, Yuuri falls asleep fairly quickly and the tension in his body dissipates. It’s enough to put Viktor at ease, and he slips off into slumber soon after.

 

\---

 

Sometime three hours later, around seven in the morning, Viktor wakes, still exhausted and groggy, his head feeling far too heavy when he sits up and eyelids threatening to close again. Beside him, Yuuri had already moved in his sleep, having released Viktor but still remained pressed close, curled up into a ball while Makkachin had crawled into the open space beside him. Viktor blinks a few times at him, smiles sleepily, then crawls out of the bed and trudges to the bathroom to do his business, ignoring the dull ache in his side.

When he steps back out he sees Yuuri has moved, rolled onto his belly and inched closer to where Viktor had been sleeping, seeking out the warmth still in the sheets. One of the dragon’s hands has reached up, curled into Viktor’s pillow and gripping tight.

A surge of warmth runs through him at the sight. If Yuuri weren’t still soundly asleep, Viktor might have happily pounced on him and smothered him with affection, gushing over how cute and sweet he looks. Viktor moves slowly across the room, his groggy mind telling him to check outside the door to see if the medicinal supplies promised earlier has already been sent up. The doors are opened slowly, just enough that Viktor can poke his head out. The guard standing outside straightens up, and off to the side he sees the small cart brought by with a tray on top holding bundles of fresh herbs and rolls of bandages with shears to cut them, and a mortar and pestle set right in the middle. Viktor drags the cart inside, pushes it to the bathroom and lifts the tray with ease, despite the movement making the ache flare up momentarily. It’s set on the counter, right next to the basin, and he quickly and quietly returns the cart back out into the corridor and shuts the doors, turning his eyes back to the bed where Yuuri still sleeps.

Really, Yuuri could sleep through the end of the world if he wanted to.

Viktor slowly crawls back into bed, peering down at Yuuri’s sleeping face, one cheek squished by the pillows and his dark hair pooling against the soft fabric. His mouth is open just a little and Viktor reaches out to wipe a speck of drool from the corner of Yuuri’s lips with the pad of his thumb. In response, Yuuri’s brows twitch and he stretches his legs out as he yawns in his sleep, big and wide, then falls lax again with his mouth shut and a small portion of his tongue poking out from between his lips. The Prince feels himself smile, because how could he not? Everything about Yuuri is so endearing to him, right down to the tiniest details, and he means it not in a patronizing way. Because Yuuri is strong and smart and competent, it’s all part of his charm that he seems so oblivious to.

And Viktor loves him for it.

With his index finger, he pokes at the tip of Yuuri’s tongue and it slips back into his mouth immediately. Yuuri grumbles but doesn’t wake, and Viktor adjusts the blankets over his shoulders.

He falls back to sleep to the sound of Yuuri’s peaceful, even breathing.

 

\---

 

The first thing Yuuri is aware of when he wakes is the distinct lack of a body next to him. There’s still warmth left in the sheets, but there’s no one there except for a dog snoozing on his other side. A low whine mixed with a rumble bubbles up in his chest and he slings his arm out over the empty space beside him where Viktor should be. What time is it? He’s still so tired, his head hurts, and his feet feel sore. It has to be well into the morning with how the sun shines brightly into the room and onto his face, shining through his closed eyes, and he knows that while Viktor loves to sleep in he wouldn’t allow Yuuri to sleep in past noon.

He cracks his eyes open but immediately shuts them when the sunlight hits them, turning his head to press his nose into the duvet and avoid the sun shining right on his face.

Yuuri feels drained, both physically and mentally. Sneaking out so late to meet up with a woman who is a criminal of sorts, with Yuri Plisetsky tagging along despite Yuuri’s best efforts to keep him away, learning his sister is still alive and that there is a whole group of dragons - full-blooded or otherwise - currently residing in Kypol, spending their nights and meeting in what had once been an underground hideout for a thieves’ guild years and years ago, or so Minako had briefly mentioned before Yuuri left with Yura in tow.

What she told him before _that,_ however, was how Viktor was in danger. That once, someone tried to kill him but was stopped before they could, and they more than likely haven’t given up yet.

 

_“I’d been traveling southeast when I heard about it,” Minako said. “Meeting with a group of smugglers. Countries away, but when the heir to the throne of one of the most powerful countries in the world is the target of an assassination attempt, word travels fast and far.”_

_She said this so casually like she was just talking about the weather. Dread tightened in Yuuri’s gut._

_“Whoever it is…” Minako pauses. “They aren’t alone. Well, they never were in the first place. It’s the same people that murdered his father. We think they have some kind of ties to nobility. Maybe hired assassins? But, my contact wasn’t sure. Just that they overheard some shady figures in some seedy inn near the Qazaqi-Seskian border talking about royal bloodlines being sullied, that they ‘brought the commoner king down’ but failed to get rid of his ‘mongrel heir’, and the ‘traitorous bitch queen’ will meet a similar fate.”_

_“And no one else overheard them?” Yuuri scoffed._

_“Not sure. My contact works as a bartender there, and it’s one of those places where the lowest of the low regularly stop by. No one really questions what they hear. It’s not their business. Everything that goes on there, stays there. Not even authorities bother with it.”_

_Yuuri fell silent, fingers clenched tightly into the fabric of his trousers. “What do we do, then?”_

_“We can really_ do _anything just yet, Yuuri.”_

_“But I can just tell the Queen--”_

_“Yuuri, the Queen is a good woman. Her heart is in the right place. But you have to understand how suspicious she would be if you told her that, and with so little evidence to go by. She’d ask where you had heard it, who told you, and that would be putting you at risk as well._

_I can try to slip something to the Nikiforov’s spy network, but there’s only so much you can do with so little info. I told him to get in contact with others and set up watch in every town between the border and Kypol and spread out east and west. If they hear anything, I’ll let you know.”_

_“You know a lot of people.”_

_“When you live the life I do, you need all the help you can get.” Minako’s lips quirked into a smile._

_“But how do you know that you can trust them?”_

_“That’s just it,” she hummed, “You don’t.”_

 

It wasn’t a lie when he said he had overheard the guards with the Nurse and Doctor as they were rushing to Viktor’s chambers. He had arrived back to the palace with Yura via the passageways beneath, parting ways with the boy and heading toward the east wing of the palace. But he isn’t too accustomed to them yet, and took one wrong turn and ended up walking up a small staircase and exiting a doorway just big enough for someone to squeeze through in the ground, concealed in a group of bushes in a large courtyard. Yuuri was prepared to turn back around until he heard the footsteps and froze, then the hushed voices regarding Viktor’s possible injury. A few minutes after they passed, instead of turning and making his way to his own room, Yuuri bolted and didn’t stop running, not caring about the guards he ran past who shouted in surprise, pushing himself up if he stumbled, and then barreling straight into the wall at the end of the corridor outside of the doors of Viktor’s chambers when he couldn’t slow down in time.

It was relieving to see Viktor was alright, being treated, but watching the process was unpleasant, and it was almost like he could feel the sting and burn of the scar when they drained it, cleaned it, applied the poultice and bandages. Yuuri shudders at the memory. They were both up so late, but Yuuri is sure Viktor had gotten some sleep before then, while Yuuri had been out all those hours.

There’s a rush of chilly autumn morning air when the doors out to the balcony open, making Yuuri shiver and seek out the warmth of the blankets. Footsteps make their way to the bedside and he feels it dip beneath Viktor’s weight.

“Yuuri,” Viktor coos. “Yuuuuri. It’s time to wake up.”

“Mmgh,” he grumbles, but when Viktor shuffles closer and puts a hand on Yuuri’s hip he finds himself moving in closer to his warmth. Viktor giggles and Yuuri scrunches up his nose, slowly cracking his eyes open to look blearily up at Viktor who leans over him, sunlight turning his silver hair the color of honey and creating a halo around his head. The bandages on him remind Yuuri he needs to change them into clean ones and mix more of the poultice. That thought is enough to help him slowly come back to alertness.

The weight of Viktor’s hand on his hip moves up to cup his cheek. Yuuri hums, pushing his less pleasant thoughts to the back of his mind for now.

“Good morning, Yuuri.” Viktor beams down at him, dipping his head to kiss Yuuri’s forehead and both cheeks, and then his lips, and doesn’t cease his relentless shower of kisses until Yuuri is squirming and whining in protest.

“Your breath stinks,” Yuuri complains, pushing Viktor away by the cheek with the palm of his hand. “Go wash your mouth out.”

“Yours does, too,” Viktor shoots back with a smile. Yuuri snorts. He sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes and blinking the sleep away from them. It’s then he becomes aware of how gross he feels, the sweat on his skin and hair the night prior having dried and making him feel uncomfortably sticky. He’s sure he doesn’t smell too great either.

A bath, clearly, is in order. First he should take care of Viktor.

“Did they bring--” A yawn cuts him off. He covers his mouth. Then he tries again, “Did they bring the… the…” Language is failing him, so he just gestures to Viktor’s dirty bandages awkwardly.

“Yes, it’s in the bathroom. But first, I should bathe.” Viktor pauses and his smile takes an impish curl at one corner. “ _We_ should bathe, actually.”

Yuuri furrows his brows. “We? Together?”

“It saves us hot water, doesn’t it?”

 _If you want to see me naked, you could just say so,_ Yuuri thinks with a sniff. Still, there’s no reason for him to say ‘no’ given the fact there’s almost nothing to be shy about between them now. And a bath together _does_ sound nice. He still has trouble cleaning his back properly.

“Okay.” Yuuri rolls away from Viktor and climbs out from beneath the blankets at the opposite side of the bed. Even though the bathroom is only a few steps away, he still glances back to Viktor worriedly but relaxes upon seeing the prince following after him as though he wasn’t injured at all. It’s a little relieving, but Yuuri hopes it’s not just Viktor forcing himself to act fine as to not worry him.

Humans are still so strange to him. Their body language complicated, their ways of expressing emotion even more so. Yuuri worries he’s far too transparent among them. He worries about how long he can keep up the lie he’s one of them.

As if sensing his worry, Viktor rests his hand against the nape of Yuuri’s neck and rubs into the skin soothingly. Yuuri sighs with a smile, ducking into the bathroom with Viktor right behind him. The door clicks shut. They brush their teeth at the basin first, with Viktor offering Yuuri a spare brush, and it feels entirely natural and so very domestic.

Yuuri makes an attempt to figure out the bath, it’s far more extravagant than his own, with more complicated valves and three spouts. Viktor has a wider arrangement of soaps and salts as well.

The Prince slides up beside him, bumping their shoulders together as he reaches over and turns the valves, letting water pour in and steam rise from the surface. While the tub fills, Yuuri helps Viktor cut away the used bandages and tosses them aside, then Viktor casually unbuttons the shirt Yuuri had worn to sleep. Yuuri pauses after wiggling out of his underwear, glancing towards the water, then to Viktor who now is pouring oils and sprinkling salts into the water.

When Viktor slips into the bath, Yuuri hesitates at the edge and bites his lip, unsure, but when Viktor smiles at him Yuuri lets his unease fade and climbs in to sit at the opposite end of the tub. The hot water eases some of the tension in his muscles, and he thinks he could fall asleep in there if he really wanted to. It’s pleasant and warm and smells nice and it just reminds him how exhausted he really is.

But when his eyes begin to slip shut, his body slowly sliding further into the water and right up to his chin, he feels a nudge against his shin and a gentle, “Yuuri.”

He snaps back to awareness and sits up properly, blinking at Viktor across the tub, where Viktor lounges casually with his arms stretched over the edge of the tub behind him and a lazy smile on his face. It’s probably meant to be an attempt at seduction, but Yuuri just thinks he looks a little silly. Even so, when their eyes meet, he understands the unspoken request and closes the distance between them, nestling comfortably between Viktor’s legs with Viktor’s chest fitted nicely against his back and arms around his middle.

When he lets his head tip back against Viktor’s shoulder, he immediately feels lips creating a trail of slow kisses from beneath his ear and down to his shoulder. Yuuri shivers, smiling, humming contentedly. A daring hand slides down his abdomen, but Yuuri catches it by the wrist before it can move any further.

“Too tired,” he laughs, and Viktor gives a little whine but then a laugh of his own.

“Alright, _zolotse._ ” Gentle hands rest on Yuuri’s shoulders and nudge him forward. “Let me wash you, at least, since you’re already going to be taking care of me! So why not return the favor?”

Yuuri snorts but complies, scooting a few inches forward so Viktor has enough room to scrub shampoo into his hair. “You can just say you want to wash me,” he says, tipping his head back into Viktor’s fingers running over his scalp. “You don’t need to come up with a reason.”

“Is that so?” Viktor pulls his hands back and leans forward, brushing against Yuuri’s back briefly while he takes hold of the hose beside the tub. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while, actually. Why didn’t we the other morning? It would have been perfect.”

“We could have, but you wouldn’t let me leave the bed.” Heat prickles beneath Yuuri’s skin at the memory. It had been a pleasant morning, honestly, and when Viktor had finally gotten him back in bed it was impossible to leave. It’s not Yuuri’s fault he started doing those wonderful things with his tongue again like he did the night before, over and over until Yuuri was shaking and whining and unable to handle anymore. He pushes aside the memory and hopes Viktor doesn’t notice how his skin’s gone a few degrees warmer.

“It was a small bed,” Viktor hums, slipping a hand around to tip Yuuri’s chin back so he can spray the shampoo from his hair with the hose without getting any in Yuuri’s eyes. “Luckily, mine is far bigger.”

Yuuri can’t help but laugh.

“Are there things a big bed can do that a small one can’t?”

“Hmm.” One hand slips back under the water and gives Yuuri’s thigh a pinch. “I’ll just have to show you, won’t I?”

The evil part of Yuuri is telling him to try to rile Viktor up, and he almost gives in to the temptation, but Viktor’s fingers are back in his hair and slathering a sweet-smelling conditioner in. He doesn’t wash it out immediately, though.

“Will you wash my hair, too, Yuuri?” Viktor asks, tone playful and sugary sweet. Yuuri grins a little grin and maneuvers himself carefully until he’s facing the prince who beams down at him widely. Rolling his eyes, Yuuri scoops a bit of shampoo up in his fingers and Viktor tilts his head forward so he can lather it into the soft silver locks. When he figures out the hose, he rinses the shampoo out. When he sets the hose aside and turns back to Viktor, he pauses then with one hand on Viktor’s nape, blinking at the top of his head.

He doesn’t know why he does it, but he pokes at the part in Viktor’s hair and when Viktor tenses up Yuuri pulls his hand back quickly. “S-sorry!”

Viktor lifts his hand to rest on his wet hair and his voice is low, mournful, far too convincing, “It isn’t getting thin, is it?”

“What! No, no no! It’s not, everything is fine, I--”

“Yuuri, how cruel,” he sniffles, slumping forward against Yuuri who scrambles to hold him up. In the back of his mind, he’s sure he’s been in a situation like this before. The prince sighs heavily into his shoulder. “You can make it up to me later.”

Viktor either recovers far too quickly, or he wasn’t upset at all. Yuuri doesn’t dwell on it, pulling his hands back while Viktor lathers his own hair with conditioner. Then he tilts Yuuri’s head back again and rinses it out thoroughly while his sits a while longer.

Once finished with their hair, they clean off the rest of their bodies with soap that smells like spices and then, finally, they relax once more. Viktor had allowed much of the lukewarm water to drain out first, then refilled it with comfortably hot water for them to lounge in as long as they pleased.

Yuuri rests against Viktor’s chest again, warm and content, the smell of the bath salts and the heat of the water and Viktor’s arms around him enough to chase away his worries and fears. They’ll resurface later, he knows, but he lets himself enjoy this while he can.

“You’re so tense,” Viktor says softly. “Something on your mind?”

“There always is,” Yuuri replies with a sigh. “I’m just worried about you.”

There’s a stretch of silence where Viktor noses into Yuuri’s wet hair.

“I’ll be fine,” he finally says, softly, but he sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself more than convince Yuuri. Yuuri doesn’t mention it. Viktor’s hands run up Yuuri’s arms and stop at his shoulders, thumbs digging in. “Let me get these knots out for you.”

He doesn’t fight it, just leaning forward so Viktor can rub into his shoulders, fingers digging into the tense, sore muscles and thumbs rubbing slow circles. Yuuri sighs, pleased. Viktor works the knots in his muscles out effortlessly and Yuuri almost whines at the loss when Viktor finishes and kisses the shell of his ear.

“Better?” Viktor asks, his voice warm.

“Mm,” he hums in return. He feels Viktor smile against his ear.

“You know, I’m sure my breath doesn’t smell anymore, and yet you still haven’t given me a kiss.” The prince’s voice is teasing.

Yuuri blinks slowly. He turns his head to look at Viktor from over his shoulder, then leans back and tilts his chin up. Viktor bows his head and captures his lips, kissing him sweetly. There’s a purr rumbling in Yuuri’s chest that he’s far too aware of, but he’ll be embarrassed about it later, straining his neck to deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue past Viktor’s lips to meet his. _To hell with being ‘too tired’,_ he thinks. One of Viktor’s hands tangle into his hair to tug his head back and deepen the kiss, the other sliding back beneath the water to tease between his thighs.

“Yuuri,” Viktor breathes against his lips when they part. His fingers flutter just a little lower. “Do you--”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. Then he’s pulling away and twisting around so he can find Viktor’s mouth again, barely thinking about it when his tail knocks over a few bottles in the process--

Wait.

Tail?

Yuuri is pulling away from Viktor immediately, glancing behind himself and freezing up at the sight of a long, black tail with a fan of silver fur at the end hanging out of the water and over the edge of the bath. The heat of want under his skin turns quickly into embarrassment. How did _that_ happen, and how did he not notice it?

Well, there goes the mood.

Viktor is staring at him with wide eyes, his kiss-swollen lips parted slightly as he stares.

“Sorry,” Yuuri chokes out, really wishing the water would swallow him whole, or that he could fit down the drain and disappear. His eyes screw shut.

Hands are suddenly on his face again, moving up to his hair.

“Yuuri,” Viktor sounds amused, enamored. “How cute.”

His eyes crack open again and suddenly he’s very aware of Viktor’s hands on his ears, except, they’re not human ears. But big, furry, floppy ones. Yuuri wishes he could die, wondering how he got so excited he lost enough control to begin to shift back.

At least Viktor doesn’t seem mad because he’s rubbing his ears and looking absolutely delighted and now Yuuri is _purring_ and that just embarrasses him even more. His tail lashes in annoyance, mostly at himself. And, as nice as the petting feels, Yuuri ducks away and clambers out of the tub, making sure his tail doesn’t smack Viktor in the face in the process.

“It’s cute, Yuuri!” Viktor whines, leaning forward to tug the stopper from the drain and let the tub empty. Yuuri focuses on getting everything back to normal, shuddering at the feeling of the tail disappearing and ears shrinking, rounding, and growing much less furry. It’s a little unpleasant, he thinks, which is strange given that he’s not had too much discomfort in the process of shifting. It must be the fact he’s not shifting as a whole, just specific parts of his body. But he does notice something else - he’s been getting that jumpy, antsy feeling again from being like this too long. While it’s still present, just that small few-minute shift chases of a little of his unease.

He stores that away for later.

Yuuri dries himself off with his embarrassed blush still high on his cheeks. Viktor presses close to his back, nosing into his damp hair. Yuuri elbows him and he grunts in response. “You’re getting me all wet again.”

“You don’t say.”

The cheesy smile Viktor wears is a little infuriating. Yuuri throws a towel at his face.

“Dry off and sit down.” Viktor complies, then plops down on the mahogany toilet lid with his towel still draped over his head. He looks ridiculous. Yuuri loves him.

Also, he realizes he doesn’t have any real clue how to use most of what he’s been supplied. Nurse Petrova had gone over how to make the poultice, yes, but while he had watched her apply it to the bandages then place the bandages over Viktor’s skin just a few hours prior he thinks he’ll struggle to figure it out himself. Well, maybe Viktor could help him.

Yuuri puts a generous amount of the herbs into the mortar, mixing them with water before he goes to crushing them into a thick paste. Viktor remains seated, hands folded in his lap, eyes directed to the wall ahead of him. He’s humming and bouncing one leg. Yuuri picks up a roll of bandages and stares at it. Then he picks up the shears, hoping he’s measuring these bandages right when he cuts them and applies the poultice, folding the cloth over.

It’s not too hard to get the bandages on, but it takes a little longer than Yuuri thinks it should. Viktor, at least, is patient. Yuuri secures the bandages with one more layer wrapped around his shoulder, then steps back.

“Thank you,” Viktor says as Yuuri rises to his full height. Warm hands rest on Yuuri’s hips, drawing him closer. “My Yuuri, taking such good care of me. Ah, this makes me so happy… Haha, doesn’t this remind you of something?”

Yuuri isn’t entirely sure what he means at first, then realization dawns on him and he smiles wide. “I knew I’d have to repay you eventually.”

Viktor nuzzles into Yuuri’s belly and Yuuri can’t stop himself from giggling. A little kiss is pressed to his navel. Fingers card through silver hair, damp and glossy. He both hears and feels Viktor exhale, warm breath against his skin. Yuuri runs his index finger down the nape of Viktor’s neck and observes the constellation of freckles across Viktor’s shoulders and upper back.

Makkachin scratching and whining at the bathroom door are what snaps them out of their quiet bliss.

“We should get dressed,” Yuuri says as he steps back and Viktor rises to open the bathroom door. Then he remembers that he has nothing to change into unless he wears something of Viktor’s again. “Or, uh, you should.”

The Queen said his belongings will be sent to his new room by lunch. What time is it now? Yuuri squints at the clock on the wall, but exhaustion and lack of his glasses make it impossible to tell. He sits at the edge of the bed and picks up his glasses, setting them on his face and observing the clock again. An hour until noon. Maybe he could sleep a little more. He could ask Viktor to have servants bring a change of clothes over once they’re in the new room since Yuuri knows he can’t just leave Viktor’s chambers in the nude. Humans get offended over that sort of thing. It has to be rubbing off on him. He can barely look at Viktor shirtless without his brain short-circuiting. How they got through the morning without Yuuri burning alive out of his own embarrassment is a mystery. How they had even slept together a few nights ago is an even bigger mystery.

Yuuri flops back down on the bed, pulling his glasses off again and setting them aside. He tugs the blankets over himself and, still warm from the bath, wrapped in the softness of the comforter, he feels like he’s going to pass out at any moment just lying there.

Viktor moves about the room, dressing then opening the doors to let Makkachin run out into the corridor and presumably to the nearest exit so she can relieve herself.

“Viktor,” he calls from the bed. The Prince turns, blinking, then smiles wide at Yuuri. “Can you… tell them to bring me a change of clothes?”

The dragon yawns then snuggles further into the blankets. His eyes fall shut. He hears a soft ‘of course, Yuuri’ before he drifts off to sleep again.

 

\---

 

The room is lovely. So lovely that it’s a shame it won’t be used very much. It’s not unlike Yura’s, with the same color scheme and set-up, but still somehow more empty. Yuuri doesn’t have many belongings outside of the clothing Viktor continues to have made for him and the notebooks to practice writing and novels to help him with reading. He pads further inside and pats at the top blanket of the bed, a tad bigger than the one from his old room.

Maybe he’ll use it sometimes, but mostly he thinks he’ll be spending his nights in Viktor’s chambers. It seems like such a waste, Yuuri almost feels bad.

The moment he stepped inside he knew instantly it was going to be much harder to sneak out and see Minako. Viktor is an incredibly heavy sleeper, much like Yuuri, but there’s always the risk he’ll wake up for any reason and find Yuuri gone. He doesn’t really think Yura would be full of too many good ideas on how to leave and then come back without Viktor noticing. And, Yuuri isn’t sure there’s any entrance to the tunnels from Viktor’s room. With guards now constantly posted outside of his door, it would be impossible to slip out without being questioned.

There’s not a lot he can do, and it troubles him deeply.

He never thought he’d say it, but he needs to find Seung-gil. At least he’ll be able to relay information to Minako and possibly work out some kind of plan for him to slip out unnoticed the nights he’s meant to see her. To see his sister and the others with them. The first night he hadn’t learned too much about anyone else. The next, he supposes he will.

What he did learn was Seung-gil is like him, a full-blooded dragon that has lived in Kypol for ten years with his mother who married a human woman that turned out to be one of Minako’s contacts. It’s the reason why he and his mother’s identities have been kept hidden and they’ve been able to live among humans for so long. Why he managed a spot as a knight for the kingdom.

After what seems like ages he manages to find Seung-gil off duty, observing the knights and battle mages on the sparring grounds from the sidelines. Yuuri can’t tell much from his expression, but he swears there’s a hint of an intrigued smile on the knight’s lips. There’s a large gray and white dog lying down at Seung-gil’s feet, snoozing in the autumn sunshine. It seems entirely undisturbed by the sounds of clanking metal and bursts of magic.

Yuuri sits down on the bench, keeping three feet between them. If Seung-gil notices him, he doesn’t make any indication of it. Yuuri shifts awkwardly, glancing to the other dragon then down to his lap, then back again.

The silence is going to kill him. He brings a fist up to his mouth and clears his throat. Maybe it’s a bit rude, but Seung-gil isn’t the most polite individual anyway. He won’t really mind. Hopefully.

“What?” Seung-gil says, sounding a little distant, his eyes remaining on the sparring grounds. Mila is currently sparring with a boy that can’t be any older than herself, with red-brown hair, a soft face, and freckles, and it’s surprising how easily he manages a sword and the flames that erupt from his palm. They both look exhausted. Yuuri wonders how long they’ve been at it.

“There’s--” he’s interrupted by a loud boom followed by a laugh, where Mila had just managed to dodge a burst of flame. “There’s something I need to talk to you about. I think you can help me.”

The other dragon’s jaw sets; he looks a little annoyed. To be fair, they never really got off on the right foot. Yuuri wonders if it would be possible to salvage any chance left to form a friendship with him, or if they’ll only continue to be on a shaky ground where they only tolerate one another.

Yuuri’s expecting Seung-gil to brush him off, but to his surprise he tears his eyes away from the two knights on the field to look at him. Most of his expression is impassive, but his eyes are expectant.

“There’s been some… new arrangements.” Yuuri pauses, glances around for any potential eavesdroppers, then lowers his voice. “That makes it more difficult for me to come to the meetings.”

Seung-gil says nothing. So Yuuri continues, “I’m staying in Viktor’s chambers from here on out, for the most part. You can probably see how it complicates things.”

All he gets in response is a low hum.

“So I came to you for help.”

“Why?” Seung-gil asks without missing a beat. Yuuri is taken aback.

“Well-- you… you’re in contact with Minako, right? You can tell her. We can figure something out.”

Seung-gil gives him a skeptical look and instead of responding turns back to watch as Mila and the other knight exit the field side-by-side, covered in sweat and grime and soot, laughing all the while. Yuuri swallows. If Seung-gil isn’t going to help him, this will be much more complicated than it could be. He slowly rises to his feet and turns to leave, his stomach in knots.

Before he can take one step there are chilly fingers latching around his wrist, holding him back. Yuuri jolts, whipping around to meet Seung-gil’s gaze. It seems much brighter than before.

“I can help,” he says simply.

“You can?”

“When I tell her…” His dark eyes slide back to the sparring grounds. “I will let you know.”

 

\---

 

These meetings are so unbearably boring.

But he’s the Prince, perfect and polite and adored even by those outside his country. So he has to be there, sitting on his mother’s side, with Yakov on his other. It’s not like he has any purpose for this meeting, just to sit pretty and give a charming smile whenever it’s needed. That, and to provide extra backup should any visiting ambassador get a little too brave. It hasn’t happened yet, but in the world of politics, it’s not unheard of. Most are smart enough not to do it in a room full of knights and battle mages with a Queen and Prince well-trained in the art of magic and battle.

They are discussing trade routes. Or something. Viktor lost track of the conversation an hour ago. He smiles and nods when he’s addressed every so often, but for the most part attention is kept on his mother who sits tall and proud and powerful. Such a stark contrast to how she truly is, but being Queen there is an image to keep up, isn’t there?

It’s been four days since he woke in the middle of the night with fierce, burning pain cutting across his ribcage. His mother had to double up on security, and he knows she feels guilty for making their knights work non-stop with only a few hours to rest. He had overheard her discussing with Yakov earlier the possibility of creating a sort of magical barrier around the palace, one that would be able to detect malevolent magic and block the user from entering the grounds. Yakov had said that if whoever it is is already in the palace, then it would be useless.

 

_If they were able to go this long undetected, they must be very skilled. Skilled enough to walk right through any barrier we put up._

 

Viktor’s thoughts wander to Yuuri, who he knows is currently being worked to the bone by Madame Baranovskaya. There’s still a few months until the Ball, but Lilia is trying to teach him as much as she can in that time span; then tear him apart once he learns the steps, rebuild his strengths, and refuse to stop until he’s flawless. Yuuri isn’t one to back down from a challenge, and he seems to enjoy dancing.

Waking up to Yuuri next to him has done nothing but improve his mood. The pain and inflammation in his scar are practically nonexistent already. The Doctor had examined the state of it just the day prior, telling them it should be fine, but to continue tending to it for the rest of the week just to make sure. So Yuuri continues to apply the poultice and bandages him up every morning and every evening. He’s gotten better at it, his hands deft yet careful; soft against Viktor’s skin.

He doesn’t realize the meeting is over until Yakov nudges him firmly. Viktor’s attention snaps upward and he rises alongside his mother, who bid their farewells as their visitors bow respectfully and file out of the courtroom.

The moment the doors shut, the Queen’s face softens a bit. Her hand lands on Viktor’s shoulder, her touch light and gentle. She’s been so worried about him, he knows. It’s only natural for a mother to worry for her child, especially with current circumstances.

“Your mind was elsewhere?” The tone of her voice is light and teasing. There’s a knowing look in her eyes.

“You know how boring these meetings are for me, mother,” Viktor responds with an upward quirk of his lips.

“You’re going to have to get used to them,” Yakov says gruffly. “When you’re king.”

It takes a lot of Viktor’s willpower to not roll his eyes.

“Politics are fun for no one,” Sofiya hums.

“Really? You seemed to get a lot of enjoyment out of ripping that Alban dignitary apart with just a few words.” That much he could remember from the meeting, but he can’t recall just what said dignitary had proposed that was so quickly shot down.

“Okay. They _can_ be fun if you know how to play your cards right,” she laughs, dropping her hand from his shoulder and smoothing out the front of her gown. “Alba is a small country, but they have fierce warriors. It is good to have them on our side, regardless of what ridiculous ideas they propose. We will offer them some protection, weaponry, and medicines. In exchange, they give us the means to create armor and weapons much like their own..”

“Oh?” Viktor isn’t really all that interested, but he knows better than to ignore his mother.

“There were--and apparently still are--many dragons residing in Alba. Their scales and hide make for good armor.”

That is enough to make him pay attention. Viktor goes silent. His thoughts flicker to Yuuri again.

“It’s not as though we’re going to war anytime soon,” Viktor says after a moment.

“No, but tensions with Zhōngguó have been high the past two years, in case you’ve forgotten,” Yakov points out. “Her Majesty has been doing her best to keep things relatively stable, but Emperor Yao is getting more and more impatient.”

“She’s still unhappy with the conditions of the Treaty of Asios,” the Queen sighs and begins to make her way to the exit of the courtroom. “I suppose she’s not used to sharing. But we are all still recovering after the Blazing War. Fifty years does not fix all damage done. We all need to work with one another.”

“Surely she isn’t stupid enough to incite a war with the state of her military. And every country of Asios would turn on her.” All this talk of dragons and war is even more exhausting than sitting through a meeting full of old men for three hours. Viktor’s brows furrow. He steps out after his mother, Yakov following, and guards close behind. They lower their voices to hushed whispers.

“Never doubt the lengths a ruler would go for their country,” Sofiya says. Viktor doesn’t respond, just falls silent again while his mother and Yakov speak amongst themselves.

The bandages under his clothes feel itchy, or maybe it’s the wound itself. At some point, he breaks off from the group to wander the palace on his own. The floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the corridor let the autumn sunshine spill in, and give him a few of one of the many courtyards outside. The rose bushes are in bloom again, spotting the dark green with white and red. It’d be much easier to appreciate if there wasn’t a constant prickling of dread in his belly.

Viktor pauses in the middle of the corridor to stare out of the windows. He doesn’t want to think right now. Going back to his chambers and sleeping sounds much more preferable than doing much else today, but at the same time, he’s having trouble staying still.

He scans the courtyard on the other side of the glass, pausing at the two figures standing in the shade of the tree in the corner. It’s Sir Seung-gil and… Yuuri. They’re talking about something, Seung-gil looking impassive as always and Yuuri’s expression almost inscrutable from this distance and the shadows of the orange leaves casting over his face. Viktor is curious.

So he makes his way further down the corridor to a set of doors that would lead out into the courtyard but hesitates. The last thing he wants is Yuuri angry with him for intruding on a conversation. Even if he’s so unbearably curious, and has a tendency to be quite insensitive, he doesn’t want to come off as _nosy._

Even if he is.

The sound of the doors opening snaps him out of his thoughts. Seung-gil stands before him, looking surprised for a split second before his expression goes neutral once again. He gives a short bow and a soft, ‘Your Highness’, then slips off when Viktor returns it with a curt nod of his head.

Yuuri remains in the courtyard, sitting on the bench beneath the tree and looking rather distant; he’s lost in his thoughts. The fallen leaves crunching underfoot as Viktor crosses the courtyard is enough to pull Yuuri out of his head and look towards the source of the sound. The slight widening of his eyes makes Viktor smile, which is returned immediately.

He settles on the bench beside Yuuri, their thighs bumping.

“Hi,” Yuuri says.

“Hi,” Viktor hums. He drops his head onto Yuuri’s shoulder and wordlessly Yuuri takes his hand and entwines their fingers. When his eyes flutter shut, his breathing evens out to match Yuuri’s.

A nap here sounds nice, with his head on Yuuri’s shoulder, in the shade of a tree with golden sunlight dappled across grass and stone. Not cold, not hot, but a pleasant warmth with the occasional chilly breeze.

“What were you two talking about?” Viktor asks, breaking the silence. He swears he hears Yuuri’s heart skip, before falling back into a steady rhythm. After a few moments of more silence, Yuuri laughs.

“He was asking about Phichit,” the dragon says.

Viktor’s eyes open and his brows shoot up. “Phichit?” That bubbly servant boy. The first friend Yuuri made upon his arrival to the palace.

“Yes.” Yuuri squeezes his hand. “They’re both interested in one another. He was asking what Phichit likes. Asking how to court him.”

It sounds so funny. Seung-gil Lee, the stony-eyed knight that had no interest in talking to others and was seemingly focused solely on his job, pining after the young man that was practically his polar opposite. And asking _Yuuri_ for advice. He wonders how that went, considering how clueless the dragon is when it comes to romance. But Phichit is Yuuri’s best friend, it would only make sense that someone would go to him for advice.

“Playing matchmaker, are you?” That earns Viktor a laugh. “What did you tell him?”

“That Phichit has been making advances for months now. That he just needs to be straightforward when asking.” Yuuri turns his head enough to nuzzle into the crown of Viktor’s hair.

Viktor smiles. “You should take your own advice, Yuuri.”

“Tripping over my own feet and making myself look like an idiot seemed to work well enough,” he quips. They both laugh softly. Viktor kisses his shoulder. Silence envelopes them again for a few minutes longer.

“How was the meeting?” Yuuri asks quietly, right as Viktor feels he’s going to doze off.

Viktor chuckles. “Boring, as usual.”

“I guess that’s something you’ll have to get used to,” the dragon replies.

“You’re starting to sound like Yakov now,” Viktor snorts.

“Maybe you should listen to him for once?” There’s a teasing lilt to Yuuri’s voice.

“As if _you_ should be telling _anyone_ to listen,” Viktor reaches over with his free hand to wiggle his finger into Yuuri’s side. Yuuri startles, then smacks Viktor’s hand away with a whine of protest but Viktor feels the smile against his hair. His eyes flutter shut again. Yuuri lifts Viktor’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

The presence of Yuuri is warm and comforting. He lets his worries fade for now; he lets himself be vulnerable. Here, there is no threat of war, there is no dark magic or poison or assassination attempts, there is no bad blood between their races. Here, there is only their soft breathing, the beat of Yuuri’s heart, the warmth of his skin and the sweetness of his breath.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says gently. “Do you want to go inside? We can do some reading.”

“No,” Viktor murmurs, nuzzling further into Yuuri’s shoulder. Lessons can come later. Responsibilities can come later. “Let’s stay like this, just a while longer.”

Yuuri shifts beside him, then their positions are carefully changed. Yuuri leaning back against the arm of the bench, Viktor lifting his feet from the ground to stretch out and settling in the space between Yuuri’s legs. Yuuri’s leg stuck between Viktor’s body and the back of the bench bends at the knee, and his ankle brushes over Viktor’s calf when he hooks his foot around it. It’s a tight fit, but they make it work.

Viktor’s cheek presses to Yuuri’s chest, where he can feel a familiar heartbeat against his ear. Fingers comb through the silver strands of his hair, slow and repetitive movements that begin to lull him back to a doze once more.

“Sleep, Viktor.” Yuuri’s voice now is so sweet and warm. A voice meant for Viktor’s ears only. “I’ll keep you safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have an important announcement. i'm not entirely sure how fast i'll be updating this fic currently, as i've signed up for a yoi big bang as a writer, so i'll be working on that along with this fic. but rest assured it will still be updated!
> 
> i don't know what else to say here other than to apologize for the wait again, and thank you for your patience )':
> 
> here's some more fanart done!
> 
> some very good boys by fcd2c7 on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/fcd2c7/status/880288141634142208)!  
> ANOTHER very good boy by transkags on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/transkags/status/882315170541965317)!  
> angery yuuri by jumpforjo on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/jumpforjo/status/880552080263532545)!  
> cute lil doodles feat. noodle dragon seung-gil by SutcliffonFire on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/SutcliffonFire/status/880087819531821056)!  
> another soft good fuzzy boy by crisiscores on twitter, [here](https://twitter.com/crisiscores/status/887020911718789120)!
> 
> (if i missed any, let me know!)
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> as usual, my twitter is [here](http://twitter.com/yuurigif)! i'll post about updates there! you can ask me questions or just talk to me!  
> my tumblr is [here](http://yuuriofficial.tumblr.com), if you would prefer to ask questions there.


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